The One With The Big Secret
by Jana
Summary: AU, starting with Thanksgiving, 1988, when Monica cut off Chandler's pinky toe. Monica has been keeping something from almost everyone she knows. For how long can she keep it, and what will she do when she can't any longer? Chapter 25 of 25
1. Prologue

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Prologue

**XXX**

--The history books would later tell of how this was the worst Thanksgiving in all the world, Monica was sure of it.

Strolling unhurriedly, she made her way back to the waiting room with her diet coke, stewing over the night's events. Flirting with Chandler, in retrospect, was a horrible idea, but at the time, when Rachel had suggested it, she had eagerly agreed, wanting to get back at the man for his hurtful comments made exactly one year ago.

She would lead him on, make him think they were going to have sex, then when he got naked, she would steal his clothes and lock him out of the house so that the neighbors would laugh at him. But nothing went right from the very beginning.

Even though Rachel told her how to flirt, it came across all weird, and only made her fluster more when she realized her attempts at seduction weren't working. Then, the catastrophe. Juggling too many items at once, the knife she had picked up seconds before slipped, dropping to the floor in what seemed like slow motion. They both seemed equally as shocked as they watched it fall point of blade down, straight for his sandaled foot.

Monica shuddered as she remembered the sound he'd made, the blood pouring out between the wicker of his shoes. Chaos quickly ensued, and as the paramedics arrived, Monica grabbed the small piece of toe that was amputated and threw it in a bag of ice, jumping into the family car with her parents and brother fifteen minutes later and following the ambulance to the hospital.

Only, it wasn't Chandler's toe she had grabbed. Not wanting to look at it, she only glanced briefly before grabbing the little nub off the floor and shoving it into the sandwich baggie filled with party ice, without making visual confirmation. What she had actually grabbed, was a piece of carrot. All the doctor could do was sew up the wound, leaving Chandler forever without his pinky toe.

Guilt gnawed at her as she stepped into the waiting room, sighing as she plopped down into the plastic chair nearest her father.

"Dad," she muttered, looking to the floor. "I think we should let Chandler stay the night at our house. It's getting late, and that's a bit of a drive, back to the college."

"You honestly think **that's** gonna make up for you cutting off his toe?" Ross asked his sister flippantly, receiving a glare back from her in response.

"Shut up, Ross," she snipped, then turned her attention again towards her father. "Please, Dad?"

"Well, if he wants to," Jack Geller muttered, ignoring his children's squabbling, "Then I suppose he could stay in the guest room."

Monica threw a smug look at her brother, then kissed her father on the cheek. "Thanks, Dad. Ross?" she addressed him as she looked in his direction. "Could you tell him? He won't stay if he knows I suggested it. He hates me now."

Ross scoffed. "Do you blame him?" he questioned her as he pushed off the chair and headed for and out the door.

"No," she whispered to herself, her head hung low. "I don't blame him."

**XXX**

--Chandler accepted the invite to stay the night in the Geller's guest room, the long day and pain medication making him drowsy and not at all excited about driving back to the dorm rooms where he lived with Ross. Even with Ross driving, the cramped car was bound to be uncomfortable.

Monica apologized relentlessly, to which she was given forgiveness each and every time, but she just knew by the expression Chandler wore, and by his tone of voice, that he was only paying her lip service. For her parent's benefit, and possibly her brother's, too, she guessed.

Hobbling on crutches, he thanked the Geller's for their hospitality before disappearing into the guestroom for the night, not to be seen again for hours.

Everyone had turned in shortly after Chandler did, leaving Monica alone on the couch, her guilt and crappy programming on TV her only company. She was just about to head for bed, even though she wasn't tired and knew she wouldn't be able to sleep, when she heard the guestroom door open. Emerging from the hall seconds later, Chandler actually seemed startled to see her sitting there.

"I didn't think anyone was still up," he muttered, adding as he pointed towards the TV set, "Why are you watching it on mute?"

"I didn't want to wake anyone," she answered with a shrug, then clicked it off and stood to face him. "Can't sleep?"

Looking away and to the floor, he told her, "The pain meds wore off. I was just going to get a glass of water so I could take another one."

"I can get that for you," she offered eagerly, immediately stepping towards the kitchen.

"You don't have to," he said, following behind her, but at a much slower pace. "I can get it."

The tone he used made his feelings about her obvious. He hated her.

Ignoring him and grabbing a glass from the cupboard, she sighed as she said to him, "You have every right to hate me, but let me at least get you a glass of water, so you don't have to struggle with it, alright?"

"I don't hate you," he told her, watching as she filled the glass at the tap. "I just- I don't understand what happened."

Turning to face him, she asked, "What don't you understand? And where's your pills?"

"Back in the room," he answered, gesturing back towards it with a jerk of his head. "I was going to take the water back with me."

"Alright," she shrugged, then headed for the door that separated kitchen from livingroom. When he made no move to follow, she stopped and glanced back at him. "Coming?"

He nodded slight, then shifted his weight and worked the crutches, falling in line behind her as she led the way.

"What don't you understand?" she asked again as she set his glass of water on the nightstand table next to the bed, moving so he could hobble up and take a seat at the edge of the mattress.

"I don't know," he said, looking away and grabbing his bottle of pain medication. "You were acting, I don't know, weird."

"I know," she sighed, her eyes dropping to the floor. "I'm sorry about that," she apologized for the millionth time. "I'm sorry for all of it."

"Yeah," he scoffed, popping the pill in his mouth and swallowing it down with the water. "So you've said. But, that doesn't really answer my question."

"What's your question?" she asked, tensing when his sharp blue eyes met hers.

"Why were you acting like that?" he asked her, his tone and gaze intense.

Admitting it would be beyond embarrassing, Monica knew, but he deserved to know the truth. Not being able to give him his pinky toe back, she could at least give him that.

"I was, trying to, flirt with you," she stammered, looking away out of necessity; she could feel her cheeks redden before the sentence was even out of her mouth.

"That was some really bad flirting," he said with a smirk, and she met his eyes again when she heard the hint of humor in his tone.

"Yeah, well, I've never done that before. Apparently," she added, smiling slightly, "I suck at it."

"Maiming someone is never what you want, when you're trying to let them know you like them," he teased good-naturedly, swinging his legs onto the bed.

"I know **that much**," she laughed, joining him by sitting on the edge and at the foot of the bed. "It wasn't like I **set out** to injure you."

Nodding, he asked, "What **did you** set out to do? What were you hoping to accomplish?"

"Not sure," she lied, shrugging her shoulders. "I didn't think it all the way through."

"Interesting," he muttered, his gaze shifting to the stripes on the bedsheet. "So, do you need to rush off to bed, or can you hang for a bit?"

There was a bridge of sorts being built, she realized, and she smiled shyly as she nodded her head in response to his question, whispering, "I can hang."

"Cool."

**To be continued**

Author's note: Sorry it took so long to get this prologue chapter out, my muse took a different form in the last few weeks. I have been creating video slideshows of every episode of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, except one, cause Matthew Perry wasn't in it, and have been posting them on YouTube. If you want to see them, go to YouTube and search my username there: janaonwheels. I also have a tribute to Matthew, a tribute to Mondler, and an interview with Matthew from his appearance on Ally McBeal, as well as 'Fools Rush In' bloopers.

Ok, so, you know the drill… reviews make me whole inside, and amp me to write, so, let's see 'em, folks!

MTLBYAKY


	2. Chapter 1

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter One

**XXX**

--Standing in the hallway, facing apartment number nineteen, Chandler Bing waited with a sense of hesitance. To him, this was his last hope. Weeks had been spent searching, to no avail. Every apartment in New York was either out of his price range, too far from work, a hole, or owned by weirdoes. At least this tenant sounded somewhat normal over the phone, he thought to himself.

Hand poised at the ready to knock, his knuckles were inches from making contact, when a noise behind him caught his attention.

"I'll be by after work," the man exiting apartment twenty informed whoever was just inside. "Carol's going out with Susan again, so it'll just be me."

The female inside offered a simple "K!" in response, then the man said goodbye and shut the door, spinning around to leave.

Shock registered instantly on Chandler's face, and he visibly startled as he found himself staring back at the face from his past.

"Ross Geller?" Chandler asked, his stunned expression mirrored back at him.

"Chandler Bing?" Ross asked, a smile crossing his features before a short laugh rung out. "Oh my God! How long has it been?"

"Five years!" Chandler answered, a strained laugh following as the man he knew from so long ago reached out to embrace him.

"What the hell happened to you?" Ross then asked, his smile slipping slightly, making way for a more serious expression. "You just, disappeared!"

"My dad," Chandler started to explain, but found the words difficult. It wasn't something that could be summed up in a few words or sentences. "He needed me. I got sidetracked." He sighed, looking away and to the ground before meeting his old friend's eyes once again. "It's complicated. Maybe we could meet up, and I could explain it properly."

Ross nodded, his smile returning, though it seemed a bit guarded. "We should definitely do that! We have a lot to catch up on!"

Chandler agreed with a nod, reaching into his suit jacket pocket and retrieving a business card from it. "That's my work number," he told Ross, flipping the small embossed piece of paper through his fingers a few times before handing it over to him. "Give me a call and we'll set something up."

"I absolutely will!" Ross announced, glancing at the card briefly before slipping the card into his own suit jacket pocket, asking, "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Apartment hunting," Chandler answered, hooking his thumb towards apartment nineteen.

"Oh, yeah?" Ross asked, almost excitedly. "Joey is one of my best friends! I could put in a good word for you!"

"You'd do that?" Chandler asked, somewhat surprised.

"Sure!" Ross shot back happily, taking two long strides and flinging the door to the apartment open, stepping immediately inside. Chandler followed tentatively. "Joe!"

"Yeah?" a disembodied voice called back.

"Got a sec?" Ross asked the empty room. "There's someone I want you to meet."

The dark haired man appeared a few moments later, a lopsided grin on his face as he approached.

"Joey, this is an old friend of mine, Chandler Bing," Ross introduced the man standing beside him, nodding when Joey seemed to startle. "Yep! Small world, eh? He's the guy interviewing for the apartment! Chandler, this is Joey Tribbiani."

"Really small world!" Joey exclaimed, shaking Chandler's hand. "I had one other interview today after you, but, since you're a friend of Ross', I'll just call and cancel! You got the apartment, if you want it."

"Wow, really?" Chandler asked, amazed. "You don't want to, like, ask me any questions or anything?"

Joey shrugged, but almost instantly, he snapped his fingers, as if a question suddenly came to mind. "You like 'Baywatch'?"

Chandler's smile grew. "Yeah."

"Excellent," Joey returned with a nod of approval. "You like foosball?"

Glancing back at the table that stood near the entranceway, Chandler answered, "I do, but I'm not very good at it."

Nodding in approval once again, Joey then asked, "You like the Knicks?"

Chandler laughed. "Who doesn't?"

"You're in!" Joey announced, surprising Chandler when he wrapped him in a brief, congratulatory 'guy hug'. "When can you move in?"

"Um, today too soon?" Chandler asked him, deciding to move past the odd display of misplaced affection when Ross didn't even seem to flinch at the sight of it.

"No, today's fine," Joey answered easily, adding, "But later, cause I have auditions till three."

"Well, I work till five," Chandler returned, asking, "Is six ok?"

"Six it is! I'll order pizza!" Joey exclaimed, his childlike excitement causing Chandler to smile.

With a friendly pat on the back, Ross told Chandler, "I have to get going. I'm going to be late for work as it is."

"Sorry about that," Chandler apologized, feeling at least partially responsible. "And thanks for your help."

"Glad to do it!" Ross returned with a gesture of dismissal. "We'll meet up later, at the coffeehouse," he added, heading for the door. "You can make it up to me by buying me a cup of coffee."

"You got it!" Chandler agreed with a smile, asking, "What coffeehouse?"

Ross just laughed, then pointed at Joey, "He'll tell you all about it. We hang out there more than our own homes!"

"It's right downstairs," Joey started to explain, "Less than one hundred steps away! I counted!"

"Oh!" Ross suddenly exclaimed, stopping his departure at the door. "You should go say hi to Monica!"

Chandler froze for a moment, then forced a smile onto his face. "I should," he near whispered, asking, "Where does she live?"

Ross and Joey both laughed, and Chandler looked from one to the other abruptly before his eyes landed back on Ross.

"She lives in apartment twenty," Ross told him with a smile. "Right across the hall! You'll be neighbors!"

It felt like his stomach was climbing into his throat, and he swallowed hard to rid himself of the uncomfortable sensation before attempting to speak. "She's, right across, the hall?"

The smile began to drop from Ross' face as he asked, "You're not still mad at her, are you? For what happened at Thanksgiving?"

Chandler wiped the scowl he knew he was wearing from his face, muttering, "No. Of course not. I forgave her a long time ago for that. It's just--"

There was no way to finish that sentence, and he knew it, but just as perplexing was, how should he sidestep it?

"It's just?" Ross asked, requesting he finish the statement that dropped into silence.

"Is she, mad at **me**?" Chandler asked haltingly. "Because I disappeared?"

Shrugging, Ross answered, "I don't think so. Why would she be?"

"What happened at Thanksgiving?" Joey asked, gaining both men's attention.

"You'll have to field that one, Chandler," Ross informed as he pulled at his jacket sleeve and glanced down at his wristwatch. "I am **really** going to be late now! We'll talk tonight!" he threw at Chandler, then ran for the stairs down the hall, leaving the new roommates alone in his wake.

"It's a long story," Chandler answered Joey's question vaguely, stealing a peek at apartment twenty across the hall. "I'll tell you about that later."

"Ok," Joey said with a shrug, snagging his backpack off the floor, that was leaning against the nearby counter that separated kitchen from livingroom. "I'll see'ya tonight at six then."

"Yeah," Chandler muttered, his focus still divided.

"You gonna go talk to her?" Joey asked, and Chandler's attention snapped to him instantly.

"Who?" he asked nervously.

Joey smirked back at him. "Monica. You've been all weird, ever since Ross said her name."

"Weird?" Chandler asked him, trying to avoid the obvious context of the statement.

"Ok," Joey laughed, then started for the door. "She usually leaves for work by eleven, so you have a couple hours to decide. Lock up when you leave, k?"

Only grunting in understanding, Chandler watched as Joey walked out the door, his brain dredging up the past in a series of random memories. He promised to call her soon, the day after Thanksgiving, as he was leaving with Ross to go back to school. That was the last time he had seen or spoken to her. If she wasn't mad, she was at the very least hurt by the snub, he guessed.

He'd meant to call her, he'd planned to all along, but things with his father were far more dire then he'd first thought, when he'd received the phone call from the man's gay lover. As weeks turned to months, he'd lost his nerve, deciding calling after such a long time would seem tacky.

Sighing, he shook his head to rid himself of the unwanted thoughts, then slowly approached the door across the hall. Taking in a shaky breath in an attempt to settle his nerves, he raised his hand, using the knuckle on his index finger to lightly rap on her door.

He startled as the door flew open, a slightly more mature version of the woman he'd known from so long ago coming into view.

Shock registered on her face as she at first, only stared back at him. Finally, after several moments, her timid voice broke the strained silence.

"Chandler?"

**To be continued**

Author's note:

With the holidays coming, I'm not sure how quickly I'll be able to update this story. I still have to shop, wrap, put up the tree (yes, our tree **still** isn't up), decorate it, make the traditional Swedish Christmas bread, host the holiday party… and on top of all that, my daughter is back to ditching school! Life is hectic. It always is. Sigh.

Ok, Venused: I don't think this story will be what you were hoping for, and I'm basing this off the review you gave me. We'll see.

Time for me to beg for reviews now! Please?? Pretty please?? Without reviews, I'm an empty shell of a woman. Well, that may be a bit of an exaggeration, but you get the point, I hope. The point? Please review!

Thanks, and MTLBYAKY


	3. Chapter 2

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter 2

**XXX**

--The confusion on her face ripped through his heart, hurting him to his very soul. He owed her so much more than an explanation, and it was way beyond long overdue. Problem was, how to even begin.

"Hi," he near-whispered, staring down at his feet as he kicked at the ground.

"How-? How did you-? Where-?" Monica's incomplete questions alerted Chandler to just how unnerved she was to see him.

"Yeah," he muttered, braving eye contact as he shoved his hands into his pockets, his shoulders tense around his neck. "Strange turn of events, eh? I was set to interview for the room across the hall, when I ran into Ross," he explained, giving an uneasy smile as he shrugged. "He told me you live here," he added, his voice dropping to an almost inaudible level on the last word.

"Well, that answers the how," she said, a slight strained smile appearing before asking, "You wanna come in? Joey pretty much polished off breakfast, but I think there's some coffee left."

Moving back, she opened the door a bit wider, gesturing for him to enter, and he nodded in acceptance before stepping cautiously over the threshold.

Unsure of what to do or say next, he opted for idle conversation. "Nice place you got here. Very, purple."

She laughed, which instantly brought a smile to his face. "Thanks," she said, turning to grab a mug and pour him the cup of coffee she'd offered him. "This was my nana's place before I moved in, and she loved the color purple. Obviously," she added with a smirk, asking as she faced him once again, "Cream and sugar?"

He nodded. "Thanks. So," he then asked, trying to keep the light chatter going, "When did you move to the city?"

The smile dropped from her face, and he knew by the expression she held that he had said something wrong.

"Right before Christmas," she answered, avoiding eye contact with him as she added milk to the mug she was holding, "1988."

Her previous reaction to what seemed like a benign question made sense to him then. "Oh. So, just after-?"

"Yeah," she cut him off, approaching and holding out the cup of coffee she'd just made him. "A few weeks after. Sugar bowl is there," she added, pointing at the dining table.

Taking the mug almost hesitantly from her outstretched hand, he told her, "I owe you an explanation."

"You don't owe me anything," she sighed, waving dismissively. "It was nearly five years ago-"

"Time doesn't excuse it," he interrupted, placing his coffee down on the table next to the sugar before reaching out and grabbing her hand, physically stopping her from turning away from him. "I wasn't trying to ditch you or snub you," he insisted, adding desperately, "Please believe me."

She gently pulled her hand from his, wrapping her arms around herself defensively, looking away and to the floor as she asked, "Then, what **did** happen?"

"My dad's lover called me," he began, "A few days after Thanksgiving. He said he was sick, and was asking to see me. I wasn't expecting to be there more than a few days, but when I got there…" He trailed off, sighing as he gathered his thoughts. "He wasn't just sick. He was dying. He'd been battling AIDS for years, and never told anyone, till he was basically on death's door. He asked me to stay with him. He wanted to spend time with me, before he died."

"I thought about calling you, Monica," he continued after a moment's pause. "Honestly, I did, but, I was just so hung up on what was happening with my dad. After a while, it just, didn't seem appropriate anymore. To call you, I mean. After so much time had passed."

Tears broke free, trickling down her cheeks, but she quickly swiped them away, whispering, "I'm sorry you lost your father."

"Thank you," he whispered back, asking, "Can you forgive me? Could we maybe just, start over? I mean, since we're gonna be neighbors and all--"

When she startled, he stopped his sentence abruptly, scowling back at her in response. "Is, that a problem? Cause, if you're uncomfortable with me living next door, I can bow out-"

"I'm just surprised," she interrupted him. "Joey's been **so** picky about who he should rent the room to. I didn't think he would **ever** choose a roommate."

"Well, I think the fact that Ross knows me was the deciding factor," he said with a smirk, adding, "He even **hugged** me!"

"Yeah, well, Joey's a hugger," she laughed. "Get used to **that**."

"He's not gay, is he?" he asked, to which she immediately shook her head.

"No," she told him, "He's a womanizer. Definitely **not** gay."

"Oh, great," he muttered sarcastically. "Someone I can walk around with and be referred to as the funny one."

"You always were," she said with a short chuckle, adding in explanation, "The funny one, I mean."

"Yeah," he agreed, smiling back at her. "So, does that mean we can start over?" he asked hopefully. "Try to be friends?"

Nodding, she said softly, "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Good! Great!" he exclaimed, eagerly accepting her encouraging words with an excited tone and animated hand gestures. When she stared back at him with a smirk of amusement, he scoffed, a half smile on his face as he apologized. "Sorry. It's just, this is a good thing."

"It's weird though," she added, shrugging as if she wasn't truly committed to the statement, her smile dropping as she looked away. "I just mean that, I never thought I'd see you again."

Tentatively, he took a step towards her, wanting to gather her into a hug, but unsure if he should. He held his hands out in gesture, silently requesting permission to hold her, and after a few moments of obvious deliberation, she nodded, stepping towards him.

"I really am sorry," he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her, sighing as he pulled her closer. "I really truly am."

"I forgive you," she whispered back, startling a second later when she heard the front door open. She jumped back and away from him, immediately stuttering an explanation to the individual who had just entered.

"Pete, hi! Um, this, isn't what it looks like. Chandler is an old friend. Ross' old college roommate. He's moving in across the hall. We were just catching up."

Chandler glanced between Monica and the man she called Pete, confused by her display, noting that the guy only stared back at her for several silent seconds.

Pete cracked a small smile, asking her, "Guilty conscience?"

"No," Monica answered defensively. "You just scared me, is all."

"Mommy!"

Chandler jumped as the tiny voice caught his attention, the small child appearing behind the man that had held his previous interest.

"Emma, sweetie," Monica greeted the little girl, lifting her into her arms and spinning her around, a wide smile on both of their faces. "Did you have fun with Uncle Pete?"

"Yeah!" Emma exclaimed excitedly. "I threw pennies at the ducks!"

Monica laughed as she looked to Pete, a look that requested an explanation crossing her features.

"We threw pennies in the **fountain**," he corrected. "We threw **breadcrumbs** at the ducks."

"Sounds fun!" Monica said to the small child in her arms, leaning to set her down. "Go wash your hands and face, please," she instructed, tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind her tiny ear. "Aunt Rachel will be here soon to pick you up."

"K, Mommy," Emma shot back happily, skipping off towards the bathroom.

Awkward silence was left in her wake, as the three adults left standing there stared around at one another.

"Pete, this is Chandler," Monica finally spoke up, introducing them. "Chandler, this is, um, my boyfriend, Pete."

The two men shook hands, Chandler dropping his gaze to the floor after, as if attempting to give him and Monica privacy.

"Thanks for taking her out this morning," Monica said quietly to Pete as she walked him to the door. "I really needed some me time."

"It's no problem," Pete returned, glancing back at Chandler before giving Monica his undivided attention. "We still on for tonight?"

"Yeah," she said with a nod. "I should be off by eight. I'll call you," she added, sneaking a peek at Chandler through her peripheral vision when Pete leaned in to kiss her goodbye.

"Nice meeting you," he called out to Chandler, who acknowledged him with an upnod.

"Same here," Chandler called back, smiling uneasily as he watched the man leave. "So," he said to Monica after she closed the door, "You have a daughter." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"Yeah," she muttered, avoiding eye contact.

"And, can I assume," Chandler then asked, "That Pete is your boyfriend, but not the father?"

Monica initiated eye contact once again. "Yes and yes," she answered, quickly plastering a smile on her face when Emma walked back into the livingroom.

"Mommy? Can I take Hugsy to Aunt Rachel's?"

"Of course!" Monica said to her daughter, stroking her hair at the crown of her head. "Go get it, cause she'll be here any minute."

"K!"

As she traipsed off to her room, Chandler stared back at Monica, at a loss for how to proceed, but within seconds, the situation moved forward on its own.

After only an obligatory knock, the front door swung open, revealing a woman that Chandler was sure he'd seen before.

"Hey, Mon, is Emma ready-?" The sentence dropped abruptly as the woman caught eyes with Chandler, a shocked expression squashing her previous smile. "Oh my God. Chandler?"

**To be continued**

Author's note:

This chapter seems off to me somehow. I asked my daughter's opinion, and she says she doesn't see anything wrong with it, but I'm feeling self conscious about it. Please review and let me know if you see it to, or if you like it and I'm just crazy.

Thanks, and MTLBYAKY


	4. Chapter 3

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Three

**XXX**

--"Oh my God. Chandler?" Rachel gasped, stopping abruptly her entrance into Monica's apartment, staring back at the man in obvious shock.

Rushing up to her, Monica physically stood between Rachel and Chandler, blocking their view of each other, a stern expression on her face that she wore for Rachel's benefit. "He showed up to interview for Joey's room for rent," she near grumbled at her friend. "And happened to see Ross as he was leaving my place this morning. Ross told him to come say hi."

Realization washed over Rachel, her lips perched in an 'O' as she nodded. "Oh! Um, ok."

Peering past Monica, Rachel caught Chandler's eyes once again, asking, "So, it's been what? Five years?"

Chandler scowled, trying to place where he knew her from. "Yeah," he muttered, then asked, "I know you, don't I?"

As Monica stepped aside, her arms snaked around herself protectively, nervously watching the scene unfold.

"Yeah!" Rachel scoffed. "I met you at Thanksgiving, at the Geller's! Twice!"

"Right," Chandler returned with a nod, the memory finding him.

"So," Rachel pressed further, "What have you been up to the last five years?"

"Finishing school, getting a meaningless job- You know," he said with a shrug, "Typical type stuff. You?"

"Annie Rachel!" Emma squealed, running up and throwing her arms around her honorary aunt, dropping her stuffed toy penguin on the ground at their feet.

"Hi, sweetie," Rachel cooed, lifting Emma into her arms. "You ready to go have some fun?"

Emma nodded emphatically, announcing, "I want ice cream!"

Monica subtly shook her head at Rachel, who immediately took the cue. "We'll see," she told Emma, throwing Monica a look of understanding, as if to say that she wouldn't disobey her wishes.

"Hugsy!" Emma cried out, reaching out towards the floor where the plush toy still sat.

Monica moved to grab it, but Chandler was faster. "There you go, Emma," he said to her with a light voice and a smile, handing it to her.

"Who is you?" Emma asked as she took her toy into her arms, holding it tight to her body.

"Emma," Monica said as she stepped closer, "This is an old friend of mine, and Uncle Ross'. This is Chandler Bing."

"Bing!" Emma laughed, causing Chandler to smile back at her.

"It's a funny name, huh?" he asked her, and she nodded, laughing again.

"Ok," Monica interjected, giving Rachel's back a light touch, "You should be going now."

Rachel glanced back at her inquisitively, for only a split second before she caught on. "Right! I should!"

"I'll see'ya tonight, baby," Monica then said to her daughter, kissing her cheek. "Be good for Auntie Rachel, ok?"

"I is a good girl, Mommy!" Emma insisted, pouting, and Monica poked her nose to encourage the look off her face.

"I know you are," Monica laughed, then said to Rachel, "We'll talk later, k?"

Rachel scoffed, peering back at Chandler briefly before whispering, "I want to hear **all** the details!"

"Go," Monica shooed her, waving before closing the door, then she turned her attention to Chandler. "Sorry about that," she apologized.

Confused, he asked, "Sorry about what?"

"For Emma, laughing at your name?" she answered, adding, "She's just, really young, and-"

"Monica," he interrupted her ramblings, "I'm not upset that she laughed at my name. Relax."

Smiling sheepishly, she nodded as she looked away. "Good. Thanks."

"She's adorable," he complimented sincerely, adding, "And really smart for her age!" After a moment's pause, he asked, "How old is she?"

"She just turned four in August," Monica answered immediately, but then a strange expression soon followed, and she turned away from him abruptly as she changed the subject, asking, "Did you still want your coffee?"

She moved towards the dining table where his mug still sat, but when she heard his sharp intake of air, she froze.

"Monica?" he whispered, stepping up behind her, "Is Emma-? Am I-?"

"No," she answered his incomplete questions sharply. "I had a one-night stand, a few days after moving here. I never heard from the guy again."

"Monica?" He whispered her name again, reaching out and placing his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged away from his touch, spinning about to face him.

"You're not her father, Chandler," she insisted, her eyes stern. "His name was Steven. I wasn't planning on it being a one-night stand, but, he had a different plan, apparently."

"You've had to do this alone?" he asked sympathetically, but she shook her head in response.

"I've had help. My brother. My friends. My parents. Pete, now," she added, turning to snag his coffee mug off the table, moving briskly with it towards the sink to wash it.

Nodding, his gaze dropped to the floor as he asked, "How long have you and Pete been together?"

"Almost six months," she told him, her back still to him. "How about you?" she asked, trying to sound casual. "You seeing anyone?"

"No," he scoffed, almost laughing. "Dating doesn't work out for me."

Intrigued, she spun around, an eyebrow arched as she asked him, "Why not?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. It just, never has. I'm too sarcastic, maybe," he added, peeking down at his wristwatch. "Look, I gotta get going here. My boss, Doug, he'll shit kittens if I'm late for the eleven o'clock meeting."

"Shit kittens?" she asked with a laugh, shaking her head as she grabbed a nearby dishtowel to dry her hands on.

"Yeah," he grinned widely, "Not a pretty sight."

"I'm sure," she returned with a hint of sarcasm, asking, "When are you moving in?"

"Tonight at six," he answered, heading for the door, Monica directly behind him.

"I probably won't see you till tomorrow," she said to him, standing against the open door as he stepped through it. "I have that date tonight," she explained, quickly adding, "Everyone usually comes over here for breakfast in the morning. You're welcome to as well."

"Thanks," he said with a grateful smile, offering a tiny pseudo wave. "Bye."

She nodded, watching as he turned to leave before closing the door, leaning heavily against it once she did.

"Fantastic," she muttered to herself sarcastically, sighing deeply. "What the hell am I supposed to do **now**?"

**XXX**

--Joey marched with purposeful steps, Chandler two paces behind him, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-**seven**!" Joey exclaimed as he spun about, facing his new roommate, smiling proudly. "See? Less than a hundred steps!"

"Cool," Chandler humored him, giving him a friendly pat on the back as he followed him to the orange couch at the center of the coffeehouse.

"Rach! Pheebs! Good! You're here!" Joey exclaimed as he approached them. "I have someone I want you to meet!" He turned to point at Chandler, then he quickly pointed back at the two women sitting on the couch. "Chandler, these are my friends! Rachel and Phoebe. Guys, this is my new roommate, Chandler!"

A cordial smile slipped onto Chandler's face as he leaned in, shaking hands with the woman he didn't know, then his expression changed slightly as he gave an upnod towards Rachel. "Hi again," he said awkwardly to her, the look she gave him in return seeming strained.

"Again?" Joey asked, scowling as he looked back and forth between the two of them. "You two know each other?"

"We met back in the 80s," Chandler answered, taking a seat in the chair that was situated nearby. "At the Geller's."

"Wait a minute," Phoebe interjected, her eyes widening as she turned to Rachel, asking, "The same Chandler that was Monica's first--?"

Rachel promptly smacked her to shut her up, rolling her eyes when Phoebe squealed in response.

"Monica's first, what?" Joey asked, confused, but only awkward silence followed his question, until a high pitched voice called out from behind them, catching everyone's attention.

"Annie Rachel! Annie Phoebe! Unca Joey!"

Emma bounded up to the group, throwing herself into Phoebe's arms, Ross fastly approaching a second later.

"Hey guys," Ross greeted them as a group, taking a seat on the arm of the couch, "Anyone want to go see that new Disney movie? I promised Emma I'd take her."

Nervous about the conversation that almost took place, and that was narrowly avoided, Chandler looked away, smiling almost gratefully when Joey became instantly distracted by the invite.

"That 'Aladdin' movie?" he asked excitedly, raising his hand like an eager child before announcing, "I do!"

Ross frowned. "Joey, it's Chandler's first night as your roommate. Don't you think, maybe, you should stay with him?"

Disappointed, Joey began to pout, but as Chandler and Ross shared looks of amusement, Joey snapped his fingers, quickly suggesting, "Come with! C'mon! It'll be fun! I'll buy you your own popcorn," he offered, dangling the offer with a sing-song tone of voice.

"Come too Unca Bing!" Emma exclaimed, climbing off Phoebe's lap and launching into Chandler's without warning. "I share my gummy bears wit'choo!"

"Well, who could turn down such an offer?" he asked rhetorically, wrapping an arm around her to steady her, placing a kiss in her hair. "Of course I'll come."

"Ok, then," Ross announced with authority, "Let's get going! It starts in 30 minutes!"

"Carry me, Unca Bing!" Emma giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly.

"Do you mind, Chandler?" Ross asked, to which Chandler shook his head, struggling to stand with the added weight of Emma latched onto him.

"I got her," he said, adjusting her to his hip as he began to follow Joey and Ross towards the door. "Nice to meet you," he called back to Phoebe, glancing over his shoulder with a smile, adding, "See'ya later."

Phoebe waved, then made a humph sound as soon as the men and Emma were gone, turning towards Rachel. "I've never seen Emma take to someone so quickly! Weird, huh?"

Barely acknowledging her, Rachel hummed in response, nodding almost imperceptibly, her thoughts racing. "Yeah," she muttered, almost to herself. "Weird."

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Tree is up, all but two presents are bought, a few are wrapped, Swedish Christmas bread ingredients are all lined up on the kitchen table… Look at me accomplishing stuff! Yay me! And with all I've accomplished, I'm still right here, writing and posting chapters for all you nice folks! Spread the love and review, could'ja please?

Thanks, and MTLBYAKY


	5. Chapter 4

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Four

**XXX**

--On a mission, Rachel entered without knocking, nearly tripping over her own feet when she came face to face with Ross.

"Ross. What are you still doing here?" she asked him, scowling. "Isn't Monica back from her date yet?"

He nodded. "She just got back. She's tucking Emma in. Why are **you** here?" he asked, glancing down at his watch. "At eleven o'clock at night?"

"I came to talk to Monica," she answered vaguely.

"What's so urgent, that it couldn't wait till tomorrow?" he questioned her incredulously.

Rachel rolled her eyes, muttering, "It's not **urgent**, I just didn't feel like waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Monica asked as she entered the room, closing Emma's bedroom door softly.

"I wanted to talk to you," Rachel said to her, throwing her a discreet look that edged intense.

Catching on instantly, Monica turned to Ross, hoping to encourage a quick departure from him. "Thanks for watching Emma for me," she said, her hand on his back as she started inching for the door. "Make sure you call when you get home," she added, snagging his jacket off the hook where it hung and handing it over to him, "So I know you got there ok."

He laughed, asking, "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"No!" she denied his light-hearted accusation. "It's just, getting late, and Rachel wants to talk to me--"

"Yeah," he interrupted, sliding his arm into his coat, asking in Rachel's general direction, "What about?"

"It's just, girl talk," she shot back with a half-glare. "It doesn't concern you."

Scoffing, he slipped his hand into his pocket, producing a half-eaten bag of gummy bears. "These are Emma's," he told Monica, handing them to her. "She fell asleep before the credits even rolled, but I think she liked what she saw of it."

Anxious for him to leave, but not wanting to appear so, she smiled and nodded in response. "Glad she liked it."

"Oh, and Chandler came up with the cutest nickname for her!" he said with a laugh, opening the door, but stopping short of leaving. "She laughed every time he used it!" Pausing for effect, his smile grew before he finally announced, "He nicknamed her Emma Lemma Ding Dong! And **she** calls **him** Unca Bing! I swear, I've never seen her warm up to someone so quickly! She even curled up in his lap when she started getting sleepy!"

"What did Chandler do?" Monica asked, her intrigue and slight concern leaking out in her expression and tone.

"He didn't do anything," Ross answered, scowling back at her. "Why?"

"No, nothing," Monica muttered, dismissing the importance of her question with a shake of her head. "I just meant, did he seem to mind?"

"No," Ross said, his smile returning. "He seems just as taken with her as she is him! He really has a way with her," he added, inching out the door. "Oh! And, sorry this is last minute, but I can't take Emma to the park tomorrow. I got a call from the museum about an hour ago-- Some kids broke into the homosapien display and, rearranged the mannequins," he said with a sigh and a grimace. "Tell her I'm sorry?" he asked of his sister, who nodded.

"I will," she assured him. "Maybe next week."

Agreeing with a nod, he turned to leave after saying goodbye, leaving Monica and Rachel alone at last.

"What the hell happened?" Monica asked her sharply but quietly, her agitation setting Rachel on the defensive.

"How would **I** know?!" Rachel shot back. "I didn't go with them to the show!"

Sighing, Monica moved away and towards the couch, muttering, "This is turning into a nightmare."

"Monica," Rachel suggested with a calming tone, "Maybe you're looking at this the wrong way. If they get along so well, maybe it's a sign that you should just **tell** him."

"I **can't**, Rachel," she groaned. "He'll hate me!"

"He's not gonna hate you," Rachel countered. "He disappeared! You couldn't find him! It's not like you **lied** to him!"

Monica shook her head, dropping her face in her hands. "I **did** lie to him, Rachel. Earlier today, right after you left with Emma this morning, he point blank asked me. I told him he wasn't her father. Twice."

"Why?" Rachel asked, shocked. "Why not just tell him?"

"Rachel," Monica sighed, "Don't."

"Don't what?" Rachel sighed in return. "Why can't he know?"

"I don't **know** him, Rachel!" Monica snipped back, pushing off the couch and standing almost toe to toe with her friend. "I **barely** knew him **then**! And it's not just **my** heart that stands to get shattered here! I have Emma to think about!"

"Emma adores him!" Rachel reminded her, asking with a compassionate tone, "And so do you, don't you?"

"Don't, Rachel," Monica whispered, turning away. "Just, don't."

"Don't **what**?" she asked determinedly. "Don't tell you that he deserves to know the truth? Don't remind you that the whole reason you didn't tell him in the first place, supposedly, was because you couldn't find him?"

"Well, what I **meant** was, don't try to play match-maker. But, yeah," she added cynically, "Don't do that other stuff, either, cause I already know."

"Look," Rachel tried a new approach, "You can fix this! Tell him, you didn't mean to lie to him. Tell him, you were still in shock from seeing him again. Or that you've been lying about it for so many years, it just fell out of you naturally."

"Yeah? And then what?" she challenged her.

"I don't know," Rachel admitted, adding, "You'll have to leave that up to Chandler."

"And what if I don't want to leave something so huge up to a virtual stranger?" she shot back, obviously agitated.

"He deserves to have a relationship with his daughter, Monica!" Rachel insisted, matching her tone.

"He's living across the hall now!" Monica reasoned her position on the matter. "He doesn't need to know the biology to know her!"

"She will only ever be the cute little girl next door, if you don't tell him the truth!" Rachel countered. "And what happens if one of you moves? Or you and Pete get married?"

Monica scoffed. "I'm getting married to Pete now?"

"I don't mean tomorrow," Rachel sighed. "I just mean, what if you do eventually? You don't ever think of that? You guys have been going out for six months now!"

"I don't know," Monica admitted. "I mean, he's sweet, and kind, and he really cares about me. And Emma. I know he'd be a good father to her, but, I just-- I don't know."

"And what about Chandler?" Rachel asked with quiet seriousness.

Exhaling sharply, her irritation returning, Monica asked, "What about him?"

"Isn't he all those things you just said? Plus," she added, "He really **is** Emma's father!"

"Ok, look, this conversation is over," Monica announced, heading for the door, implying she wanted Rachel to follow. "It's late, and way past my bedtime. I can't make this decision right now. I need time to think about it."

"But you **will** think about it?" Rachel asked as she followed behind her, Monica spinning to face her as she answered.

"Yes," she promised her, "I'll think about it. Ok?"

"Ok," Rachel accepted with a nod, backing down from their confrontation, wrapping her frustrated friend in a hug. "I'm sorry this has all gotten so complicated," she whispered, assuring her, "I'll respect whatever decision you make, and I'll keep your secret for as long as you want me to, but, Monica, think long and hard about this. Put yourself in his shoes," she suggested, pulling back and initiating eye contact. "Would **you** want to your child kept from you?"

With that she left, quietly shutting the door behind her, leaving Monica with those final words whirling inside her brain.

**XXX**

--Crossing the hall in a near state of panic, her cordless phone still clutched in her hand, Monica pounded on the door, returning to the act of pacing in a desperate albeit futile attempt to calm herself. When she heard the door open a moment later, she turned quickly on her heel, being met by concerned blue eyes instead of somewhat vacant brown ones.

"Is Joey here?" she asked, straining to keep her tone level for the sake of the man standing opposite her.

"No," Chandler answered, his brow furrowed in response to her odd demeanor. "He went to some audition."

"On a Saturday?" she questioned him harshly, as if he were to blame for the dilemma she was in.

"I'm sorry," he said with a shrug of uncertainty. "That's just what he said. Do they not hold auditions on Saturdays?"

"I don't know!" she shot back, her arms flying into the air in dramatic gesture as she spun around and headed back into her apartment. Chandler followed.

"What's going on?" he asked her, startling and stepping back when she turned about to face him abruptly.

"I think I'm screwed," she told him, dropping the phone she still held back onto its base before starting once again to pace. "The restaurant called. Said there's an emergency **mandatory** meeting at two, and I can't get ahold of anyone to watch Emma! If I don't go, I could lose my job! And I can't take her with me! But I can't afford to get fired, either! I'm screwed!"

"I'll watch her for you," Chandler offered easily, surprised by the incredulous look he found himself on the receiving end of. "What?" he asked her, arching an eyebrow at what he felt was an unusual reaction.

"Why?" she asked, almost sounding as if accusing him of something.

"Why, what?" he answered with a question, his hands sweeping through the air in a gesture of confusion.

"You moved in next door less than twenty-four hours ago!" she exclaimed in a whisper. "You go to the movies with her! You give her a nickname! Then, you offer to babysit!"

"What are you suggesting?" he asked her, offended by the implication. "That I'm a pervert or something?"

"No, of course not!" she denied adamantly. "It's just, weird."

"Thanks," he muttered sarcastically. "Look, you're in a bind, I'm offering to help. The ball's in your court," he added, folding his arms and staring back at her pointedly.

Pausing for a moment, she eventually asked, "You're sure you can handle it?"

Scoffing, he said, "I think babysitting for a few hours is within my capabilities."

"Sorry. Ok, um-- Ok. She's napping now," she said, explaining her daughter's routine, "But you need to wake her up at one-thirty. And her snack time is at two-- there's apples and grapes in the fridge. And the numbers are on the fridge, for her pediatrician, and the hospital. And poison control."

"Ok," he somewhat interrupted her, "So if I decide to feed her bleach, we're all set."

Monica glared back at him, unamused. "Chandler, I need you to take this seriously."

"I am," he assured her, apologizing. "Sorry. Go ahead."

"Everyone else's numbers are on there, too," she told him, continuing. "I couldn't get ahold of them, but maybe you'll have better luck later."

"Monica," he said as he placed his hand on her shoulder, attempting to calm her nervous ramblings, "Go to your meeting, ok? I promise you, your kid will be fine and in one piece when you get back, alright?"

Sighing, she smiled slight, whispering, "Ok. Thanks."

When she disappeared out the door, Chandler shook his head, grinning to himself as he dropped his body onto the couch. "Adorable."

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Ok, guys, I need your feedback on something. I could go two ways with this… I could either make Pete a good guy, or a bad guy. If I make him a good guy, he's gonna be a pretty decent person. If I make him a bad guy, he's gonna be a very bad man. Popular vote decides this.

I'm not going to tell you which way I was initially leaning, cause I don't want to sway the vote. If it's a tie, I'll decide based on your feedback and by how I was originally thinking.

Ok, so, let's see those reviews, folks!

Happy Holidays, and MTLBYAKY


	6. Chapter 5

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Five

**XXX**

--It wasn't that she didn't trust Chandler. If she had reason to distrust him, she never would have left him alone with her child. The situation was just weird, she had decided, only half listening to the owner of the restaurant as he droned on. When he finally thanked everyone for attending the meeting, she knew he was preparing to wrap it up, and she sat a little taller in response, waiting for him to officially dismiss them so she could leave and get home.

Three golden words, "That's it, folks," and she jumped from her chair and bolted for the door, nearly tackling a taxi and lunging inside as soon as she hit the street.

Bounding up the stairs two at a time, Monica raced through her front door, spotting immediately that Emma and Chandler weren't in the room. Ready to call out for them, she stopped short when she heard the faint sounds of a conversation coming from her daughter's room. Curiosity getting the better of her, instead of announcing her presence, she stood quietly just outside the door and listened intently.

"Look, Unca Bing! I color her dress pink!"

"Wow! That's **so** pretty! You're **very** talented!"

"Mommy says I's a good color-its."

"I agree with your mommy."

"You color **her** dress blue!"

"Ok. Which blue? This one, or this one?"

"This one."

"Light blue it is."

"Yer fun. Unca Pete don't like to color."

"Why not? Coloring's fun!"

"I know!" It was several silent moments later, before Monica heard Emma speak up again. "Wanna know a secret?"

"Sure."

"Unca Pete's gonna be my daddy."

Shocked by what her daughter had just said, Monica gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to muffle the sound.

"He is?"

"Mmm-hmm. He's gonna pour-pose to Mommy. He buyed her a game-ment ring."

"An engagement ring?"

"Yep! It's pretty! I gotta hold da box!"

"Neat. I need the green. For the grass."

"K. Here."

"So, um, did Pete say **when** he was, going to propose?"

"Nope. Look, Unca Bing! I's all done!"

"Aw, that's beautiful, Emma Lemma Ding Dong!"

Hearing Emma laugh, it was then that Monica decided to make her presence known, backing away from the room and heading for the hooks by the front door so she could hang up her coat and purse.

"Chandler? Emma? I'm home!"

"Mommy!" Emma exclaimed, running out of her room to greet her. "I color you a picture!"

"Yeah?" Monica asked, smiling as she gathered her daughter into her arms. "Were you good for Uncle Bing?"

"Yep! He color a picture too!" she announced, and Monica glanced over at him as he entered the livingroom, a somewhat hesitant smile on his face.

In the light of Emma's shared secret, Chandler suddenly felt uncomfortable in Monica's presence, though why, he wasn't quite sure. "She was an angel," he said as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, shifting uncomfortably. "No trouble at all. I told you she'd be in one piece when you got back," he added, initiating eye contact for only the briefest of moments before looking away.

Setting Emma down, Monica said to her, "Sweetie, why don't you go get that picture you colored for me, ok? I want to talk to Chandler for a minute."

"K!" she shot back happily, skipping off to her room without concern.

"I'm sorry about before," Monica apologized, mistaking his unease as frustration towards her and her earlier actions. "I was, stressed," she added in further explanation, and he nodded in acceptance.

"It's ok." Giving an upnod towards the door, he then muttered, "I'm gonna get going. I'll see'ya later."

Inches from leaving, Monica called his name, and he spun around to face her in response, his brow furrowed as if questioning her. "You saved me today," she admitted, adding in a near-whisper, "I just wanted to say thank you."

"You're welcome." He offered the typical response with a forced smile, but as he turned away, a sadder expression inched onto his face, Monica catching a glimpse of it before his back was fully to her.

"Chandler?" she called to him again, asking with slight concern, "Are you ok?"

His hand on the doorknob, he stayed cemented in place, not daring to meet her eyes. "I'm fine," he insisted weakly. "Tell Emma I said goodbye, ok?" Not waiting for a response, he pulled the door open and disappeared through it, yanking it to shut it as he did.

"Why does this have me so bothered?" he asked no one in a whisper, glancing back at Monica's apartment before stepping up and into his, the unfamiliar sting of jealousy welling inside him.

**XXX**

--Tucking her in, Monica kissed her sleeping daughter on the forehead before clicking off the bedside light, shuffling out of the room and for the couch after closing her door all but a sliver. With a heavy sigh, she lowered her tired body down onto the cushions, her mind abuzz with the day's events.

The most pressing on her mind, was Emma's words to Chandler, about how Pete was planning to propose. She liked Pete, but was that enough to accept a marriage proposal from him? Then, there was Chandler. Startled by the thought of him, she exhaled sharply, wrapping her arms around herself as her gaze dropped to her lap. Feelings for him brought with it the potential for devastating heartbreak. She couldn't open herself up to that again. Getting over him once was hard enough. She couldn't do it again. She knew she couldn't.

If she married Pete, she could forget about Chandler, in time. Marrying him made sense. It was logical. So why was the idea of it so unsettling?

The light rapping on her front door called her attention, and she was just about to get up to answer it, when the door creaked open, Chandler's head appearing around the corner a second later.

"Can I come in?" he asked, waiting for permission before entering.

"Sure," she said as she shifted positions to better face him, asking as she waved him in, "What's up?"

"Joey's got a, **friend**, over," he told her, inching slowly into the apartment. "It's a little, well, disturbing," he half-joked, smirking before gaining seriousness once again. "Can I hang with you for a bit?"

"Yeah," she answered, patting the cushion beside her. "I could use the company."

"Yeah?" he asked as he joined her. "What's going on?"

"I have a lot on my mind," she admitted, choosing her words carefully. "I have a big decision to make, and I'm, well, conflicted."

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked, offering to lend her his ear, adding almost proudly, "I'm told I'm a good listener."

"Thanks, but, this is something I'm going to have to work out for myself," she declined his help gracefully.

"Ok," he returned with a shrug, asking a moment later, "Emma asleep?"

Nodding, she muttered, "Since eight-thirty. Thanks again for watching her for me today. The meeting was lame, but it's good I went. Pretty sure they would've fired me, if I hadn't."

"No problem," he said with a slight smile, adding, "Glad I could help. It's the least I could do."

Surprised by his statement, she asked him, "What do you mean?"

"Disappearing all those years ago?" he reminded her. "After what I put you through with that, babysitting is the least I could do."

"You don't owe me anything, Chandler," she told him sincerely. "You had your reasons for leaving. It's water under the bridge."

"Thanks." Pausing in thought for a moment, he folded his hands as he added with a sense of caution, "I thought about you all the time, if it's any consolation."

"A little," she laughed, admitting to him, "I did you, too."

"That night, was incredible," he told her, pressing further off her reaction, broaching the potentially dangerous topic of conversation purposefully. "Spoiled me for other women, really," he added, hiding a smile when he caught the blush reddening her cheeks.

"It was incredible for me, too," she whispered, avoiding his eyes, wringing her hands nervously. "It took me a long time, to get over you."

The almost smile dropped from his face, and he placed his hand on hers to stop her fidgeting as he whispered back, "I'm **so** sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know," she sighed, glancing over at him only briefly before looking away again. "I didn't know it **then**, but I know it now."

When he didn't respond, her eyes slowly moved to find his, surprised to see him staring back at her with an expression that instantly set her heart aflutter.

He said nothing as he leaned in, his fingers brushing her cheek before winding into her hair, gently bringing her to him, his lips pressing softly against hers.

All sense of logic left her, nothing else mattering in that moment but the perfect feeling of his slow and sensuous kiss, that night rushing back in a wealth of memories and emotions.

--**FLASHBACK**--

"So, do you need to rush off to bed, or can you hang for a bit?"

Smiling shyly, Monica nodded her head in response to his question, whispering, "I can hang."

"Cool."

"So," Monica awkwardly attempted to start up a conversation, "Have you picked your major yet?"

"Nah. I got time. Not really sure what I want to be."

"Really?" she asked, somewhat surprised. "I've known what I want to be for a while now."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

Proudly, she told him, "A chef."

"Yeah, I could totally see you doing that. Your mac-n-cheese is amazing."

"Thanks," she accepted his compliment, admitting, "Ya'know, you're part of the reason I decided on being a chef."

He seemed confused by what she had said. "Me? How did **I** help decide?"

The conversation was going well, in her way of thinking, and bringing up past pain and hurtful comments was liable to kill it, she knew, but she found herself being honest with him anyway, despite the risk. "Last Thanksgiving, you said I should be a chef."

"I did?"

"You did," she said with a serious tone and a short nod.

"Back when you were-- When you, were, you know--"

"Fat?" she finished his choppy sentence for him as she looked down at her hands. "Yeah."

"Oh. Well, you look great **now**."

"That's also, in part, because of you," she told him, pushing the obviously unwanted topic further. "I heard you call me fat, Chandler," she admitted nervously. "When you were talking to my brother."

"Oh, God," he whispered, immediately offering a stuttered apology. "I'm **so**-- I'm-- This probably won't mean much, but, I'm really sorry."

"That you said it," she asked almost as a challenge, "Or that I heard it?"

"Both, but especially the former."

"It means something, if you really mean it," she said, finally braving eye contact with him.

"I do. I **do** mean it."

She nodded, whispering, "Then it means something."

"Then, I'm forgiven?"

"Yeah," she assured him. "You're forgiven."

"Thanks. I'd give you a hug, but, I'm kinda, put up here," he said as he gestured towards his heavily bandaged foot.

"Then I'll come to you," she offered, pushing off the bed and retaking a seat directly next to him.

Adjusting his position from off the pillows, he wrapped his arms around her, reclining slightly as she leaned into him. When she pulled back, their eyes locked, an eternity passing before she finally gathered her courage and sought his lips with hers. When her hand inched past the hem of his bright pink T-shirt, he seemed to startle, jumping at the skin on skin contact.

"Wait," he muttered against her lips, ducking away from her advances. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes," she answered without pause, moving to kiss him once again, but he stopped her before she could reach him, grasping her shoulders and holding her firmly at arm's length.

"How old are you?"

It was easy to see where his thoughts were, and she fought back a smile as she told him, "Don't worry, I'm eighteen." She could see a hint of a smile inch onto his face.

"And you're sure?"

Nodding, she whispered, "I'm sure."

His smile grew only slightly as she felt his hand gently cup the crown of her head, bringing her to him and meeting her halfway, their lips melting into the most amazing kiss she had ever had, or even dreamt about. All future kisses, she knew, would have this one to measure up to.

--**END FLASHBACK**--

"Chandler, wait," Monica whispered as she broke away from him reluctantly. "I can't. I'm in a relationship, with Pete," she reminded him as much as herself. "I can't-- I won't cheat on him."

"I'm sorry," he apologized breathlessly, inching further down the couch and away from her. "I shouldn't have put you in such an awkward position."

She nodded, as if agreeing with him, but her immediately following words contrasted that. "It's not your fault, it's mine. My head is just, really messed up right now. **I'm** the one in the relationship," she guiltily announced. "**I'm** the one that should have put a stop to it."

"You did," he reminded her, but she shook her head in response.

"Not quickly enough," she shot back, indirectly criticizing her actions.

He nodded, asking, "Why didn't you? Put a stop to it quickly, I mean."

"Don't make me answer that," she near-whispered, pushing off the couch and stepping towards the kitchen to distance herself from him.

"I won't," he promised her, standing but remaining in place. "So long as you answer it, in **here**," he added, tapping his fingers to his chest, above his heart.

"What's **that** supposed to mean?" she asked, her tone edging irritation.

Smiling back at her, he said, "You know what it means, Monica. And you're right," he added as he moved towards the door, "You **do** have a decision to make. Just, let me know what you've decided, when you do."

Without waiting for her response, he walked out the door, hoping she would choose him, but doubtful that she would. With someone like Pete as his competition, he knew his chances were slim.

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Ok, majority wants Pete to be a good guy, so that's how I'm going to write him. I can tell you now, since it will no longer sway the vote to do so, that I was more leaning towards making him a bad guy. I even had quite a bit of the chapter written with him as such, before I read the reviews and tallied the votes.

I have decided to post below, what I had written of the original chapter, to show you the direction I was originally planning to go in. Keep in mind, this is a rough draft, and therefore not as polished as I would usually make it before posting it, but since I'm scrapping it, I didn't feel like 'fixing' it.

Also, with Christmas a day away, you probably won't see another chapter till the 26th or 27th, since I, like most people, have holiday plans.

Hope you all have a blessed, safe, wonderful holiday! And, like always, please review! MTLBYAKY

**Alternate storyline:**

"I know!" It was several silent moments later, before Monica heard Emma speak up again. "Wanna know a secret?"

"Sure."

"Unca Pete touches me funny."

Monica gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to muffle the sound. "Oh my God," she whispered, hesitating for only a second before storming the room.

"Emma?"

"Mommy!" Emma shouted excitedly, jumping off the bed and into her mother's arms. "I color you a picture!"

Chandler pushed off the bed, watching Monica closely; he knew she heard her daughter's confession, by the expression on her face.

"Emma?" Monica asked, setting her daughter down and gently pushing her at arm's length, "What did you mean-?"

"Monica?" Chandler interrupted her. "Wait a sec. Emma," he said, gaining the young child's attention, "Why don't you finish up Mommy's picture while we go talk in the other room, ok?"

"K!" Emma exclaimed happily, hopping back up on her bed and returning to her artistic task.

"Chandler," Monica whispered his name, ready to argue with him, but he slipped his arm around her shoulder and directed her out of the room before she could say anything further.

"You heard?" he asked her once out in the livingroom, and she nodded in response, tears immediately spilling onto her cheeks. "She doesn't realize anything is wrong," he told her, explaining his actions. "I pulled you out of there, because if you start freaking out and firing off questions at her, you're only going to scare her."

"Oh my God, Chandler," she cried, swiping at her face before seeking comfort in his arms.

"I know," he whispered, wrapping her in a tight embrace, stroking her hair consolingly.

"I have to talk to her," she whimpered, and he nodded against her.

"I know," he agreed, "But you need to be calm first."

"How could I let this happen?" she chastised herself. "How could I not see it? Why didn't she tell me?"

"She said it was a secret," Chandler reminded her. "Pete probably told her not to say anything."

Pulling away, she stared back at him, looking lost and beyond devastated. "Do you think she'll deny it, if I ask her? If he did?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly, suggesting, "Maybe you should have someone else talk to her."

"Like who?" she asked as she wiped away the new tears that fell.

"I could talk to her," he offered, adding, "She already started opening up to me. She obviously trusts me."

"You would do that?" she asked him, surprised, and he nodded slowly but deliberately in response.

"Of course," he said solemnly, asking, "Do you have a video camera? Something we can show the police?"

"Yeah." She looked in the direction of the video cabinet beneath her television before moving towards it.

"Does she act different, when she knows a video camera is on?" he asked, following her. "Like, does she clam up, or ham it up?"

"No," Monica answered, peeking through the viewfinder to cue up the tape. "She pretty much doesn't care one way or another. There's about an hour left on the tape," she added, handing the camera over to him. "After her fourth birthday party."

"Ok," he muttered, looking for the record button before asking, "Are you going to listen at the door?"

She nodded, then burst into tears again, crying harder than before.

Embracing her once again, he whispered, "I understand how you're feeling, but you gotta pull yourself together here. If she sees you losing it, it's only going to traumatize her further."

"I know," she murmured into his chest, taking deep breaths to calm herself. "I'm sorry."

He released her, then nodded as he hit the record button on the video camera, immediately moving to reenter Emma's room.

Discreetly, he set the camera on the bright white and pink dresser, then inched back onto Emma's bed beside her.

"Let's finish these pictures for Mommy, ok?"

"K!" Emma exclaimed, handing him the light blue crayon he had been working with before, reminding him, "Her dress is blue."

Chandler nodded, waiting for what he felt was an appropriate amount of time before revisiting the topic she had started. "How does Pete touch you funny, Emma?" he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible under the circumstances.

"Inside my undie-pants," she muttered distractedly, choosing a new color from her crayon box, immediately putting it to use.

"That doesn't sound too funny," he said, keeping his tone light.

"I don't like it," she told him, stopping to admire her work, adding, "He buyed me ice cream. I like chocolate."

"Chocolate's my favorite, too," he near-whispered, struggling with his emotions. "Did you tell him you don't like it?" he then asked, after taking a calming breath.

"Mmm-hmm," she hummed, then pointed at his coloring book as she said, "You need green for da grass."

"Hey, yeah, you're right," he returned, smiling over at her before reaching for the crayon box. "Does Pete touch you funny a lot?"

"When we go to the park," she answered, then immediately asked him, "Will you take me to the park, Unca Bing?"

Anxiety shot through him, wondering how he should answer her innocent question. Telling her no would crush her, but telling her yes-- He didn't want her to think that if he took her, he would be molesting her like Pete had.

"Maybe," he answered vaguely, adding, "Maybe I could take you to the zoo or something."

This excited her, and she sat up from her laying stomach down position as she asked, "Can we see da monkeys? I like da monkeys!"

"Sure. Listen," he changed the subject, "Since you're such a good colorist, why don't **you** color the grass for me!"

Emma sighed, telling him in an almost scolding way, "Ok, but if Mommy asks, I telling her I helped you!"

"Fair enough," he said with a smile, handing his coloring book over to her. "I'll be right back, ok? I'm gonna go have a talk with your mommy."

"K."

Sliding off the bed, Chandler snagged the video camera on his way out the door, catching Monica as she started to move away from the room and towards the couch.

Tears flowing steadily, she took the camera from Chandler's outstretched hand, dropping onto the couch once in her possession.

"How often does he take her to the park?" he asked her carefully, taking a seat beside her.

"In the last four or five months, a dozen times at least," she answered, sighing shakily.

He nodded, then tapped the camera that sat between them. "You need to take that to the police ASAP."

"You're not coming with me?" she asked him, an almost desperate quality to her tone.

Surprised by her request, it took a moment for him to respond. "I will if you want me to," he told her, standing and heading for the fridge, adding, "Let's see if we can get ahold of someone to watch Emma."

"Try Ross first," Monica suggested, and he nodded as he pulled the sheet out from under the magnet that held it to the refrigerator, scanning it for Ross' name.

"Work or home?" he asked, stepping over to the table by the couch and grabbing the phone off its base.

"Work," she sniffled, still attempting to control her emotions and onslaught of tears.

He nodded again, then dialed the number, waiting for several rings before someone finally picked up. "I need to speak with Ross Geller, please."

"He's unavailable at the moment," the voice on the other end informed him, sounding completely unenthused.

"It's an emergency," Chandler explained. "Track him down."

The person on the other end sighed deeply, muttering, "Hold, please," before irritating elevator style music filled Chandler's ears.

"Do you want me to tell him what's going on?" he asked Monica as he waited. "Or do **you** want to tell him when he gets here?"

"When, he, gets, here," she answered, the words coming out haltingly between sobs.

"Monica, why don't you go splash cold water on your face," he whispered as he put his hand over the receiver. "She'll be out to give you her picture soon, and if she sees you like **that**--" He stopped abruptly when he heard Ross' voice.

"Ross Geller."

"Ross? Chandler. How fast can you get out of there?"

"I don't know," Ross answered, sounding confused. "Why?"

"Something's, happened," Chandler answered carefully, glancing over as Monica shuffled towards the bathroom. "We'll explain it when you get here."

"Chandler," Ross called his name almost sternly, "You can't just **not** tell me! I'll be worried the whole way over there!"

Sympathetic, Chandler said, "No one is in immediate danger, but, it **is** really serious. It's about Emma. And Pete."

There was silence on the phone for a moment, before Ross finally asked, "Are you saying what I **think** you're saying?"

Chandler sighed. "Just, get here quick, ok?"

"I'm on my way," Ross shot back, disconnecting the call without even saying goodbye.

-- Author's note: That's as far as I got, when popular vote showed the majority as wanting Pete to be a good guy, so, I stopped there. Hope you enjoyed reading the alternate direction this **could have** gone in. And again, MTLBYAKY


	7. Chapter 6

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Six

**XXX**

--Breakfast Sunday morning was tense, not only because of the kiss Monica shared with Chandler the night before, but because Pete had joined the seven of them. To add to the stress, Emma seemed to latch onto Chandler's hip, sitting in his lap during breakfast, then refusing to leave his side as they sat about the livingroom socializing.

Though no one brought attention to this odd occurrence, Monica knew they all realized just how unusual it was by the looks they discreetly shared with one another. Whenever Pete joined them, for meals or for whatever reason, Emma seemed to prefer **his** company to anyone else's. This day, she barely acknowledged his presence, hanging on Chandler's every word, even though she likely didn't understand half of what he was saying, playfully counting his buttons and tracing the patterns across his shirt.

Chandler would occasionally turn away from the adult conversation to smile at her, or otherwise interact with her, completely at ease around her, which raised more than a few eyebrows.

"Do you have nieces or nephews, Chandler?" Phoebe asked abruptly, and all topics dropped from the air as everyone looked to him, awaiting his answer.

Surprised by the question, Chandler's attention snapped to her, a slight awkward smile accompanying his response. "No. I'm an only child. Why?"

"You're good with kids," Phoebe answered with a shrug, noticing then that everyone's eyes were suddenly on her. "What?" she asked the room in general, to anyone who cared to speak up, but no one did. Not to her, or in reply to her question, anyway.

"Emma," Pete changed the subject, addressing her in a higher tone of voice then he had been previously using, "Guess what **we're** doing today! Your mommy and I are taking you to the **zoo**!"

Emma's whole face lit up, shifting positions while in Chandler's lap to better face him. "Can we see da monkeys?! Can I want ice cream?! Can Unca Bing come too?!"

Pete was all smiles, till the request for Chandler to join them was made, but he plastered the expression back on his face, for Emma's sake. "Well, I don't know if he can come, Emma. Maybe he has plans today."

Before Chandler could answer, Emma turned and grabbed his face, almost forcing him to look at her in the eyes. "You come, too, Unca Bing! Please?" she whined, pleading with him, doe-eyed.

Straining to glance over at Monica for guidance, Chandler hemmed and hawed before answering. "I don't have plans, but--"

"Please?" Emma begged again, and Chandler sighed as he smiled back at her.

"Ok, Emma Lemma Ding Dong. If you really want me to. And if it's ok with your mommy," he added, both he and Emma looking to Monica for approval simultaneously.

Her eyes scanned the room, eventually landing on Pete, and they both stared back at the other for several seconds, before Monica finally gave an answer to her daughter's request.

"Sure, sweetie, he can come." Her tone and speech had a reluctant quality to it that didn't go unnoticed. "Go get your socks and shoes, ok?"

She hopped off Chandler's lap, heading for her room with a skip in her step, and as soon as she disappeared behind her door, Monica turned her attention on Chandler.

"You don't have to go, Chandler," she told him, under the guise of giving him an out. "I can make something up."

Chandler threw a scowl back at her. "I know I don't **have** to go," he said as he pushed off the floor, brushing his hands off on his slacks once standing. "She **wants** me to go. I don't mind," he added, stopping his response there when Emma returned from her bedroom, her floral and pink deck shoes in her hands.

"Like my shoes, Unca Bing?" she asked him excitedly, holding them out to show him, her matching socks falling to the floor.

"Very pretty," he answered as he bent over to grab her dropped socks, adding, "They match your dress!"

She smiled proudly back at him, asking, "Help me tie dem!"

"I can help you, Emma," Pete offered, and Emma and Chandler both looked over at him.

"Unca Bing help me!" she almost snipped at him, then turned her back on him as she lifted her shoes towards Chandler, her smile returning.

Chandler offered an apology of sorts towards Pete in the form of a sheepish smile before taking the small shoes from her outstretched hands, whispering in Monica's direction, "I think your daughter has a crush on me."

Turning to help Emma with her shoes, he missed the look of shock that crossed her face, but he was the only one.

**XXX**

--It was hard not to get caught up in Emma's enthusiasm. Excitedly, she pointed to everything of interest to her with an almost exhausting youthful energy, her arms wrapped around Chandler's neck as he carried her piggy-back.

"Monkeys, Unca Bing! Monkeys!" she squealed in his ear, gesturing wildly, causing him to smile as he winced.

"I think we're going **that way**," he said to Monica, jerking his head in the direction of Emma's pointed finger, and Monica nodded in response, smiling as she followed alongside.

"Actually, Emma," Pete corrected her, "Those aren't monkeys. They're lemurs."

"Monkeys," Emma insisted, and Chandler laughed, turning his head to whisper in her ear, "They look like monkeys to me, too."

Dropping a few paces back, Monica linked arms with Pete, smiling when he sighed in frustration.

"Is there a reason why we can't teach her what they really are?" he asked her sotto, and she pressed her head against his shoulder briefly before answering.

"No, except, she doesn't care right now. She's only four," she reminded him, adding, "Just let her enjoy, ok?"

"Fine," he muttered, then planted a soft kiss in her hair. "So," he broached the subject with a sense of hesitancy, "Chandler was Ross' roommate in college?"

"Yeah," Monica answered, the smile dropping from her face. She knew by the question, the topic he was heading for.

"And **you** know him, because of **that**?" he then asked, and she sighed as she nodded.

"Pretty much. That's how I met him, anyway," she added, pausing before telling him, "But we have our own history, too."

"What kind of history?" he asked, purposefully hanging back from where Chandler and Emma stood, several yards away, their attention on the lemurs.

"Long story short," she said, beginning the story with her gaze planted on the ground, "I accidentally cut off his toe, Thanksgiving, 1988."

Laughing, he asked, "How did you manage to do **that**?"

"Juggling too many things at once," she answered, smiling as she shook her head. "The knife fell out of my hand, right for his foot. It's not funny," she added, wiping the happier expression from her face out of respect. "He was pissed at me, for most of the night, but we, **talked**, and he forgave me."

"Big of him," Pete returned sincerely, heading for the man referenced. "Then you guys, lost touch with him."

"Yeah," she muttered, shrugging. "He found us by accident," she explained, lowering her voice as they got closer to the lemur cages.

"Emma sure has taken to him," he pointed out, though he didn't need to bring that particular fact to her attention. She was all too aware.

"It's weird," she asked as she glanced in Chandler's and Emma's direction, "Isn't it?"

Nodding, he said, "Yeah, a little. It took her over a month to warm up to **me**. **Now**, with **him** in the picture," he added bitterly, "It's like I don't even exist."

"You exist," she assured him. "It's like, when a child gets a new toy," she offered in analogy. "At **first**, that's all they want to play with. But, after a while, they get back to playing with their other toys. Chandler's just a new toy," she told him, her voice almost a whisper as they approached the man and her daughter. "Things'll get back to normal soon enough."

"Alright," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her tight to him. "I'll just be the ratty old doll in the corner, waiting for her to take an interest in me again."

"Aw, c'mon," she teased him, "You're not **old**!"

He laughed, then kissed her lips quick before calling out to Emma. "Cool monkeys, eh, Emma?"

"Unca Pete," Emma scoffed, pointing at a sign nearby, in front of the cages. "They's not monkeys! They's lemurs!"

Chandler shrugged when Pete and Monica looked over at him incredulously. "She asked what the sign said," he explained, adding, "If it helps, I told her that makes **you** right."

Pete smiled back politely at Chandler, then asked Emma with a more genuine expression, "Hey, sweetie, you ready for some lunch?"

Emma nodded emphatically, asking, "Can I want a cheeseburger?"

Looking first to Monica for approval, upon getting it, he said back to her, "Sure! And French fries too, if you want!"

"Yay!" she exclaimed, then waved at the small primates behind bars. "Bye lemurs!"

"Hey, Emma," Pete suggested, "Why don't **I** give you a piggy-back ride for a while, huh? Give Uncle Chandler a break," he added, holding out his arms to her.

"K!" She agreed easily, running up to him as soon as Chandler knelt down and she climbed off him.

"Sorry if I was hogging her," Chandler said to Pete as he took a knee so Emma could grab onto him, and Pete nodded cordially as he stood.

"No problem," Pete muttered back, then immediately started galloping like a pony, up ahead of Chandler and Monica, causing Emma to laugh.

"I think Pete is jealous of Emma's crush on me," Chandler whispered towards Monica, surprised when she snapped back at him.

"Would you **stop** saying that! She doesn't have a crush on you!"

"Sorry," he apologized to her, a hurt expression on his face, adding, "I didn't mean anything bad by it."

While her feelings on the matter were justified, in her opinion, her reaction **was** extreme. It was inappropriate for her daughter to have a crush on her father, but since he knew nothing of his biological connection, her response called unwanted attention to an unexplainable situation. Trying to cover, she quickly offered an apology and explanation, trying to divert suspicion.

"Sorry. It's just, not a crush. She just, kinda sees you as, a big kid, in a way."

No offense was intended, but it was definitely taken. "Ok, so, I'm too **weird** to take care of her for a few hours, **and** I'm immature," he muttered, scowling as he looked away, his hands slipping into his pockets.

"Chandler," she sighed, attempting to figuratively back pedal out of the mess she had created with her ill spoken words, "That's not what I meant--"

"No, really, it's fine," he interrupted her, taking a hand out of his pocket to run it through his hair in frustration. "Good to know where I stand with you, is all," he added, shaking his head in disappointment before increasing his pace, slowly leaving her behind him as he moved to catch up with Pete and Emma in the near distance.

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Hope everyone had a great holiday! I did! I got the complete Friends series on DVD! Up till now, I only had season 10 in American DVDs, and the rest in British DVDs, which meant I could only play them on my multi-regional DVD player. Now, I can watch Friends anytime, anywhere! Which means yay!

See how nice I'm making Pete? See, I can write secondary characters to be nice!

I'm very appreciative of all the feedback on the last chapter! Sorry to disappoint, but I will not be writing this story over, with the alternate plot, where Pete is a very bad man. I have another story in concept that I will be moving onto after this one, **plus** a 'Studio 60' fic I'm playing with. Also still trying to finish my 'Caroline in the City' fic I've left hanging, cause my muse is lagging on it.

Time to review, one and all! Make my day, won't you?

MTLBYAKY


	8. Chapter 7

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Seven

**XXX**

--The coffeehouse had few patrons, but since solitude was what Chandler had been looking for when he'd wandered in, the lack of people and accompanying chatter was welcomed. The day had been a long one, tensions soaring after his heated exchange with Monica, turning the trip to the zoo into a stressful outing played out in virtual silence.

As if watching Pete and Monica be all lovey-dovey towards one another wasn't unbearable enough, Chandler thought to himself, sipping the bitter liquid from his tiny espresso cup cautiously.

But with annoyed as he was over their occasional displays of affection throughout the day, his feelings in the matter were far from simple. Attraction was a given, but it seemed to go beyond that. That realization, however, was almost unsettling to him. He'd spent the better part of three years, trying to get over her, after only one night together. Now, those feelings had returned, after only 48 hours in her presence. Why did it seem longer, he wondered?

And did she feel the same way about him? Going by all the subtle slams she had thrown at him over the past two days, he guessed no.

Then his brain moved on to the bigger issue: Monica had a daughter. As much as he adored Monica, and Emma too, for that matter, was he really ready to be a part of a ready-made family? There were moments when he was sure he was. Other times, he felt far from it.

Guilt finally made a play for attention, reminding him that a relationship with Monica meant she would have to dump Pete. A stand-up guy who obviously and truly cared about Monica and Emma both. He couldn't ask her to give up something secure and stable for the only things he could offer her: love and uncertainty.

Love. That single word hit him like a ton of bricks, causing him to sputter into his coffee. Never one to believe in love at first sight, the idea that he was in it came across as ludicrous to him, initially.

But it's not at first sight, is it, he asked himself? They were more than just casual acquaintances -- that night five years ago changed that. While a brief one, they had a history together.

"Surely that changes things, right?"

"What?" Gunther, the coffeehouse manager asked, forcing Chandler to realize that he had said his last thoughts out loud.

"Nothing," he returned quickly, asking, "Could I get another espresso, please?"

Gunther shrugged, nodded, then walked away to fill the order, muttering something about 'this one being weirder than the rest of them'.

The smirk Chandler wore in response to Gunther's mumbled words dropped abruptly, however, when the man walking through the door caught his attention.

Clearly surprised to see him, Pete stumbled to a stop, staring back at Chandler only briefly before recovering from the slight shock. "Hey, Chandler," he said with an almost disinterested tone, stepping once again towards the counter.

"Pete," Chandler said with an upnod, his tone a bit more cordial. "Calling it a night?" he asked curiously, but fought to keep that inflection from his tone.

"Yeah," Pete answered, placing his order before turning to face Chandler, asking him, "What are **you** doing here, all by yourself?"

"Drinking and thinking," he said with a short laugh, adding with a touch of seriousness, "Just felt like being alone for a while."

"Is this about that little tiff you had with Monica, back at the zoo?" Pete asked, dropping money on the counter before snagging his to go cup, his briefly distracted attention undivided once again and back on Chandler.

With a shrug, Chandler muttered, "Not really." The waver of uncertainty caused Pete to raise an eyebrow suspiciously.

"Something you've gotta realize about Monica," Pete explained his girlfriend with confidence, "She's very protective of Emma. **Over**protective, really. It's not personal," he added.

"Feels personal," Chandler scoffed, looking away, prompting Pete to join him on the couch.

"She's like that with everyone," Pete assured him, adding, "She was like that with me, too, in the beginning. Plus, she thinks it's strange, that Emma has taken so quickly to you. She's normally shy around new people to start with."

"How is that **my** fault?" Chandler shot back, sighing in frustration.

Hearing the slight agitation in his tone, Pete shook his head before answering. "It's not. She doesn't **fault** you, she just thinks it's weird."

"If I ask you a question, will you answer it honestly?" Chandler asked abruptly, feeling, at that moment, that Pete was his best shot at achieving some kind of understanding.

"If I can, sure," he said, scowling back at him curiously.

"Does Monica think I'm a pervert or something?" Chandler asked, adding quickly, "When it comes to Emma, I mean."

"I don't think so. Not that she's said to me, anyway. You might want to ask Rachel that question," he then suggested. "They're really close, and have been since high school."

"I'm not, you know," Chandler said in his own defense, almost sulking, causing Pete to chuckle shortly.

"No one thinks you are," Pete told him. "This is about Emma's reaction to **you**, not yours towards **her**."

"Thanks," Chandler muttered, giving a slight nod in appreciation.

"Now," Pete said, changing the subject, asking of him, "Since I answered **your** question, can I ask **you** a question?"

Chandler glanced over at him before nodding. "Ok. Shoot."

"Monica hinted that the two of you had a history together," he prefaced, taking the long route to get to his inquiry. "She told me about the knife incident, but, I kinda got the feeling there was more to the story…"

He trailed off, waiting for Chandler's response.

"Well, I don't know how much more there is to the story, cause I don't know what she's already told you," he answered vaguely, his thoughts a whirlpool of memories and possible dilemmas.

Maybe Monica didn't want Pete to know that they had slept together. What if no one knew? It never occurred to him to ask. Something he vowed to rectify as soon as humanly possible.

"She said she was juggling too many items," Pete explained the events as he knew them, "And the knife dropped, cutting off your toe. She said you were mad at her for most of the night, but, after the two of you talked about it, you forgave her."

"Yeah," Chandler replied distantly, still avoiding eye contact, "That's pretty much the whole story."

"Pretty much?" Pete asked, implying in tone and expression that he felt something was being omitted.

Conflicted between being honest and protecting Monica's probable desire to keep certain details secret, Chandler paused before answering, considering his next words cautiously.

"She left a few minor things out. Like, I was wearing wicker shoes, which is why the knife got through in the first place. And, I stayed in their guestroom that night, cause I was loopy on pain meds. But, yeah, that's the story."

Pete only stared back for a long moment, his expression hard to read, but just as Chandler started to become uneasy by his actions, he spoke up, breaking through the odd air and tense silence.

"Ok, then." He checked his watch quickly before adding, "I gotta get going here. Early business meeting tomorrow."

"Pete?" Chandler regained his attention as soon as he pushed off the couch, standing to leave. "Emma let your little secret slip to me yesterday, while I was watching her. I just wanted to say, congratulations."

Nodding, Pete asked, "Does Monica know?"

"No," Chandler answered at once. "Monica was still at her meeting at the time, and I don't think Emma's told her."

"Good. Thanks for letting me know," he muttered, taking a step away from the couch and towards the door.

"Any idea when you're going to ask her?" Chandler questioned him abruptly, curious to know the answer, but doubting he would receive one.

"I'm still trying to decide **if**," Pete told him, turning back to add, "I think I have competition."

Nervously, Chandler stuttered, "Competition, from who?"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answers to," he advised, almost glaring back at him. "It wastes **your** time **and** mine."

Stunned silent, Chandler could only stare back as Pete gave an upnod, muttered goodbye, then left.

"New guy!" Chandler turned to see Gunther standing behind him, a tiny white cup extended towards him. "Here's your espresso," the blonde man said, looking somewhat exasperated. "Sorry it took so long," he offered in apology. "Stupid machine broke down again."

"Thanks," Chandler shot back as he snagged the cup from him, then proceeded to down the drink in one shot, thrust the tiny piece of ceramic back at him, retrieve cash from his pocket, and pay his bill, all in less than one minute's time.

As he darted out the front door, Gunther shook his head. "Definitely weirder than the others."

**XXX**

--Chandler paced between apartments nineteen and twenty, gathering his courage, contemplating exactly what he would say once he was face to face with her. Deciding against bringing up Pete's implication, that Monica had feelings for him, he opted instead to broach the subject he had vowed earlier to touch base with her on.

Certain as he would ever be, he stepped up to the door and knocked lightly, not wanting to wake Emma if she was already down to sleep, which by glancing at his watch, she probably was.

Monica seemed surprised to see him, as she opened the door and saw him standing there, stumbling over her words as she muttered, "Hey, Chandler, what are you, um, doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," he said to her with mock confidence, asking, "Can I come in?"

Nodding, she stepped aside to allow him entry, closing the door as soon as he crossed the threshold. "Is something wrong?" she asked, concern in her tone, glancing past him and in the direction of Emma's room.

Mistaking her actions as motherly worry, that the conversation that was about to take place would be an angry loud one that would disturb her daughter's rest, Chandler shook his head in an attempt to reassure her. "No," he whispered. "I just needed to ask you something, before I open my big mouth and say something wrong, or that you didn't want known."

"Alright…" She trailed off, the inflection at the end giving him permission to continue.

"Who knows about, our, you know, **night**, together?" The question was as fidgety as he was, coming out in choppy segments as he fluctuated his weight from one foot to the other.

"Why?" she asked, a cross between curious and anxious. "What's happened?"

"Nothing," he assured her, adding, "But, a few things have been said, in the past couple days, and, I'm just not sure who knows what. If you don't want certain people to know," he continued, "Then I should probably know who to avoid that topic with, don't'cha think?"

"What's been said?" she asked, scowling back at him. "And were you **planning** on conversing with people on that particular subject?"

"No," he answered, rolling his eyes. "But, if it were to come up, a little heads up would be nice, ya'know? And, when I first met Phoebe," he moved on to answer the first question she'd asked, "She said something about me being your **first**--" He stopped abruptly, as Phoebe had been forced to when saying it, adding, "Rachel elbowed her before she could finish, but, it almost sounded like she was about to say--"

"Phoebe doesn't know," Monica interrupted him, adding almost solemnly, "No one knows, except for Rachel. She was my best friend at the time, and, best friends share that kind of stuff."

"Then, what was Phoebe going to say?" he asked, somewhat confused.

"Probably, that you were my first crush," she answered, quickly explaining, "We got drunk one night, when Emma was at my parent's house, and we were discussing first loves and such. I mentioned that my first crush, was a guy named Chandler."

Surprised by the revelation, he asked softly, "I was your first time **and** your first crush?"

"Yeah," she whispered, turning away from him and heading for the fridge, covering her discomfiture by asking, "You want something to drink or something?"

Not wanting to cause her further embarrassment, he let the subject drop, for the time being. "No, thank you. I ran into Pete, at the coffeehouse a few minutes ago. He asked me about our history together," he told her, "And suggested that you were holding something back. He asked me to fill him in."

"What did you tell him?" she asked, sounding near panic, and he held up his hands to her, palms out, trying to ease her down.

"Nothing, really," he answered. "I just gave him, lame details, like, I was wearing wicker shoes, and spent the night in your guestroom."

Sighing, in both relief and frustration, she asked, "Then what?"

"Then, nothing," he lied, shrugging. "He said ok and left."

"Did he buy it?" she asked, almost sternly, and he quirked an eyebrow at her in response.

"Well, it wasn't like I lied," he shot back quietly. "I just, answered carefully."

"Is that a yes?" she asked, determined to get an answer, and he made a scoffing sound before replying.

"Yes, he **bought it**," he said, leaning then sitting on the back of her sofa. "At least, I would assume so. He didn't say much else, and I don't know him very well."

She nodded, silent for a moment, then moved to grab a bottle of cleaner and a cleaning rag from underneath the kitchen sink, immediately putting the items to work, to which Chandler chuckled.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, smirking in amusement, but he dropped the expression when she glared back at him.

"I'm anxious, and when I feel like this," she explained, "I clean."

"Why?" he asked, folding his hands across his chest and watching her intently.

"Why do I clean or why am I anxious?" She only glanced back at him, her attention more on her task of cleaning meticulously between each burner on the stove.

"Both, I guess," he said, shifting his weight and standing, slowly approaching her.

"I don't want Pete knowing about us," she answered, the rag in her hand moving furiously over the metallic surface.

"Why?" he pressed further, to which she seemed to fluster all the more.

"I just don't!" she shot back, her cleaning taking on an almost angry quality. "It's, complicated."

"Why?"

"What are you, four?" she asked, irritated, spinning around to challenge him; she gasped when she nearly fell into him.

Reaching out, he steadied her with one hand at her elbow, smiling back at her as he near-whispered, "No, just curious."

"Don't," she breathed, her expression almost pained as she looked away.

"Don't what?" he asked, inwardly pleased at the effect he was having on her. "Don't be curious? Or don't touch you?"

When her only response was to slowly meet his gaze, he took a chance and advantage of the moment, stepping closer and cupping the crown of her head, leaning to touch his lips tentatively to hers.

**To be continued**

Author's note:

I'm going to do something here I've never done before… I'm going to post one of my poems. Well, I call it a poem, for a lack of a better word… it's more like, poetic ramblings, I guess. No one outside of my family has ever seen my poems, so, I'm a wee bit nervous about it.

Please, keep in mind, my ultra-fragile self esteem bruises easily. You don't have to like it, but if you don't, please be gentle?

Thanks, and as always, PLEASE REVIEW!

MTLBYAKY

_**Turning back**_

There's no turning back now; I feel like I can't breathe.

My lungs fill with toxic air, burning my throat.

There's no turning back.

Deception is on the horizon, a mirage I must believe true.

I can't turn back.

Not knowing what the future holds scares me.

Maybe I should try to turn back.

I know regret will consume me if I don't continue on.

Turning back is no longer an option.

Despair greets me as I near the end; an evil smirk pulls at its lips.

I should've turned back.

Lack of oxygen slowly suffocates me; the stench of misery overwhelms me.

I look back longingly.

I am stripped bare, my soul naked, my heart empty.

I can't remember the starting point.

Memories of who I was are faint, knowledge of how to move forward, dim.

The path is disheveled and inaccessible.

There's no hiding from its aftermath.

How I got here is a blur to me now.

My head throbs, I feel the toxicity leaving my body.

People surround me, the faces are friendly.

They know me. They want to help me.

I can feel the love they have for me.

They lift me up. They dust me off.

They show me the road ahead.

Turning back is no longer necessary.

The future is straight forward.

By: Jana

Jan 5, 2006


	9. Chapter 8

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Eight

**XXX**

--Expecting to be pushed away at any moment, Chandler's kiss remained hesitant, mentally preparing for the slap he was sure was coming. But instead of feeling the sharp sting of her hand across his face, he was surprised to feel them slide up his arms and clasp behind his neck, pulling him closer to her. Responding instinctively, he deepened the kiss, Monica not just accepting his affection, but eagerly encouraging it, thrilling each and every one of his senses.

Lips brushing a path to her neck, he inhaled the scent of her, the light perfume she was wearing making his head spin.

"Pete," she breathed, hoping the single word would stop Chandler's perfect torture, her willpower to end it gone the moment he first touched her, but her warning went unheeded.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered against her skin. "Tell me this doesn't feel right."

"I can't," she admitted, and though she made no attempt to break away, she quickly added, "But, I can't-- I can't do this to Pete."

"Relationships end sometimes," he told her, nipping gently at her shoulder before nuzzling into her hair. "Pete's a big boy. He'll be fine."

"You want me to end it with Pete?" she asked, sounding more lucid than before, his affect on her dwindling.

"Yes," he hissed softly, near trembling as he realized, the point of no return had just been crossed.

"And then what?" she asked, the question surprising him.

Pulling back, his arm still snaked around her waist, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"What happens **then**," she asked him more directly, "Once I break up with Pete?"

"**Then**," he told her, smiling back at her, "We can be together."

"Together, for how long?" she almost challenged him, and he sighed as he released her.

"So, you haven't really forgiven me for disappearing," he muttered, looking away, a scowl of disappointment replacing his previous smile.

"I forgive you, for **before**, but, Chandler, I don't think I can survive it again. In fact," she added somberly, "I **know** I can't."

"Do you imagine that I have another dying relative, that will take me away?" he asked with sad sarcasm. "Or, is this your way of asking for some kind of guarantee?"

"I know there are no guarantees in love, **or** in life," she returned with a sigh. "But," she added, her voice straining, "I just, can't risk my heart. And with **you**, it feels like a risk."

He nodded, his lips pursed together, his brow furrowed. "Fine," he said, quietly but firmly, stuffing his hands in his pockets, his gaze planted on the floor in front of him. "If that's how you feel-- It's not for me to try to convince you otherwise."

"I still want us to be friends, Chandler," she offered, trying to cushion the blow; he smiled ruefully in response.

"Sure," he agreed with a slight scoffing sound. "Friends."

"Can we be?" she asked, noting his tone, to which he nodded back, initiating eye contact once again.

"Yeah," he said, trying for a smile, "If that's all you're willing to give me."

"Sorry," she apologized, "But it is."

Nodding again, he muttered, "I've gotta go now. Work tomorrow and all," he added, then immediately headed for the door. "See'ya," he called back, the need to leave forcing a hasty departure.

For several moments, he lingered in the hall, letting all that was said sink in. Rejection hurt, regardless of the level the relationship had achieved. It ending before it even really began didn't make the pain any less real.

Groaning in frustration, he stepped heavily into his apartment, slamming the door as he entered.

Monica winced when she heard the sound of the slamming door, slumping as she moved towards the couch.

It's better this way, she told herself, sighing as she dropped her face into her hands. "Love isn't enough," she mumbled against her palms, tears wetting her fingers. "Love is for saps."

**XXX**

--Sleep refused to find Monica for the better part of the night, her brain insisting she rethink and replay every uttered word and emotion from the earlier encounter with Chandler making rest impossible. By four A.M., she knew it was a futile effort to try any longer, having only gotten twenty speckled minutes of random naps.

While cleaning usually offered her comfort in times of stress, she found that no amount eased her mind, even as she worked through till sunrise. Exhausted and frustrated, she switched gears, attempting to find solace in cooking instead.

Dozens of perfectly cooked flapjacks later, and still her mood was melancholy, prompting questions from her brother and friends as they began arriving for the morning feast. Playing it off as lack of sleep, which was only partly true, she was able to deter their concern for her, everyone moving on to casual or mundane topics of conversation as she forced a smile onto her face and feigned interest.

Breakfast was half over, before Emma innocently asked the question everyone in the room silently wondered but had yet to mention.

"Mommy, where's Unca Bing?"

Monica glanced around at her friends before answering. "I'm not sure, sweetie. Maybe he had to go to work early."

As the offered explanation was leaving her mouth, Joey began to subtly shake his head, catching her attention.

"He said, that, he didn't think it was a good idea, to come over," Joey informed haltingly, obviously realizing that something was wrong, or at the very least, off.

"Why did he say that?" Phoebe asked, and Joey's gaze moved from Monica to the blonde asking the question.

"He wouldn't say why," Joey answered, his brow furrowed in concern. "He seems, I don't know, weird, this morning."

"Monica," Ross asked her, "You spent the day with him yesterday, right? Did something happen?"

Guardedly, she shook her head, avoiding answering directly, and while everyone pretty much took her silent response at face value, Rachel knew something was amiss.

"Wanna see Unca Bing!" Emma demanded, then without warning, sprinted for and out the door, straight for apartment nineteen.

"Emma! Don't!" Monica shot at her daughter's retreating form, quickly following her.

The door flying open startled Chandler, nearly dropping the phone he was currently using as the small intruder launched into his arms.

"Unca Bing!" she exclaimed, wrapping her little arms around his neck and squeezing.

"Doug," he said into the phone, glancing over as Monica stepped inside, an apologetic expression on her face, "Can I call you back? I have company. – Yeah, sorry. – Ok, thanks. Bye."

He disconnected the call, set the phone down on the counter, then placed a light kiss in Emma's hair, greeting her cheerfully, "Hey, there, Emma Lemma Ding Dong!"

"You come to breakfast!" she insisted, pouting as she shifted to look him in the eyes. "We haved pancakes!"

"Sorry, hun, I couldn't today," he told her apologetically, only braving a brief peek at Monica before adding, "Maybe tomorrow, ok?"

Completely ignoring the word maybe, Emma whined, "You promise?"

Cracking a smile of amusement, Chandler said, "Ok, sweetie, ok. I promise."

Satisfied, Emma shifted in his arms, making it known she wanted to be set down, and as soon as he did, she skipped off back into her own apartment, leaving Chandler and Monica alone.

"Sorry about that," Monica apologized to him, a sheepish expression on her strained face, adding, "I tried to stop her."

"It's ok," he said as he turned away from her, pretending that his used cereal bowl needed prompt cleaning, just to have something to do besides stare back at her or at the floor awkwardly.

"Look, Chandler," she near whispered, stepping up behind him. "Don't do this, ok? You can still come to breakfast. We can **still** be friends."

"I had calls to make," Chandler lied, moving on from washing his used bowl to washing his used spoon.

Monica sighed. "If for no other reason, at least come over for Emma. She thinks the world of you," she told him, placing her hand on his shoulder gently, inciting a noticeable reaction from him.

All activity froze as he felt her touch him, his heart pounding in his ears.

"For Emma," he whispered, his voice all but gone as he shrugged away from her touch, turned off the running water, then moved away from the sink and her. "I have to return this call now," he said with slight authority, checking his emotions. "So," he added distantly, almost coldly, "If you'll excuse me."

Taking the hint, Monica nodded, sadly looking away as she muttered, "Sure. No problem. I'll, see'ya, tomorrow," she added, stumbling verbally as she backed towards the door.

He said nothing as she left, but once her back was to him, he shut the door soundly, just shy of slamming it, causing her to wince.

"What happened?" Phoebe asked, everyone watching Monica intently as she stepped inside.

"He had calls to make," Monica told them, trying to sound casual. "He'll be by tomorrow."

"Why did he slam the door?" Ross then asked, his eyes squinted and trained on his sister.

"Did he?" Monica asked with an innocent lilt, avoiding his question, a forced half-smile on her face as she began to collect the breakfast dishes.

"Um, **yeah**!" Joey shot back, scoffing at the idea that she could've missed something so obvious.

"Was he mad at Emma, for running in there?" Ross asked, protective of his niece, sounding almost affronted.

Sensing where her brother's thoughts were, Monica quickly went into damage control mode. "No, no, it wasn't anything like that! He's fine, guys. I think his mind is on work or something. Just, give him space, ok?" she asked of them, sounding as casual as she could make herself. "Sometimes, people just need alone time. I'm sure that's all it is."

Reluctantly, Ross, Phoebe, and Joey dropped the topic, their attention moving to the time, all muttering about how they needed to get going. Rachel, however, knew there was more to the story, and therefore wasn't as easily diverted.

She would stay behind, wait till everyone else left, then get to the bottom of it, even if she had to beat it out of her friend. Since it was Rachel's morning to watch Emma, until Judy Geller could pick her up in the early afternoon, no one thought twice about Rachel not rushing off as they were.

Finally alone, everyone out the door and moving on with their day, Rachel confronted Monica, her stare and tone determined.

"So, you gonna tell me what the hell is going on?" Rachel asked sternly, "Or am I gonna have to weasel it out of you?"

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Sorry about the delay in getting this chapter out. I made a new Mondler video for YouTube… season 1 slideshow kind of thing. Go check it out, if you want. My username there is: janaonwheels. I will be making one of those for every season.

Then, my kids had a mass sleepover thing… had about 13 kids in my house, including my own. Hard to write, when the level of chaos is so severe.

This chapter is a hair shorter than the last one… sorry about that. It was a good place to end it.

I know I say this in every author's note, but, please review! It really does mean the world to me.

Thanks, and MTLBYAKY


	10. Chapter 9

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Nine

**XXX**

--Monica's back to Rachel, she rolled her eyes, her attention remaining on the task of collecting and washing the breakfast dishes. "There's nothing to weasel out of me," she insisted, wanting desperately to avoid the topic, but knowing the chance of that to be slim at best.

"Bull, Mon!" Rachel shot back, watching her language for the benefit of the young child sitting at the coffee table, coloring peacefully. "In three days time, things have gone from bad to worse, between you and Chandler!"

"You're imagining things," Monica returned with a sigh, maintaining an air of indifference. "We just, had a small argument, is all. We're ok now," she assured her friend, catching the incredulous look she wore as she glanced back at her briefly.

"What was the argument about?" Rachel asked, her tone almost compassionate in contrast to the previous accusatory one.

Slumping against the kitchen sink, Monica groaned softly, resigned to the fact that she was going to have to have the very conversation she wanted more than anything to dodge. Abruptly, she turned off the water and spun around, glaring at Rachel for a few seconds before wiping the angrier look off her face and addressing her daughter.

"Emma? Could you please go to your room to color?" she half-asked, half-ordered. "I want to talk to Auntie Rachel alone for a minute."

"K!" Emma chirped, gathering her coloring book and box of crayons and toddling off, disappearing into her room and closing the door with a kick of her foot.

With an expression that seemed to be saying, I do **not** want to be discussing this, Monica stared back pointedly for several moments before muttering, "He's avoiding me."

Scowling, Rachel asked, "Why?"

"Cause, last night," Monica answered, moving to sit in one of the dining chairs at the kitchen table, "He hit on me, and I shot him down."

"Oh my God," Rachel gasped, joining her at the table as she asked, "What did he do? What did **you** do?"

"He kissed me," Monica told her, ignoring Rachel's wide-eyed expression as she added, "And asked me to end it with Pete, so we could be together. I told him I couldn't!" she exclaimed, almost defensively. "I told him I couldn't risk my heart."

"Risk your heart?" Rachel asked, confused. "What do you mean?"

Monica threw her a sideways glance, an almost-glare, announcing, "Oh, c'mon, Rach! You remember how I was back then! When he disappeared! I couldn't stop crying?" she reminded her, shaking her head as she sighed, adding wistfully, "I can't go through that again."

"Wait a minute," Rachel said, after taking a moment to digest what she had just heard. "You shot him down, cause you're afraid he'll disappear again?"

"I'm not **afraid**," Monica scoffed, trying to sound convincing. "I'm just, using all the available information to make an informed decision."

"Ok," Rachel laughed shortly, asking, "Is this some kind of business transaction?"

"No," Monica returned sharply, but suddenly, her expression changed, and she cocked her head as if a thought had just come to mind. "Well, kind of," she answered instead, moving on to explain. "I can't let my heart rule my head in this! I have a daughter to think about! If I make a bad decision – If I dump Pete and go with Chandler, and it doesn't work out--"

"Who's to say it won't work out?" Rachel interrupted, adding, "And who's to say it **will** with Pete?"

Monica dropped her gaze to the table, to her hands in front of her as she picked nervously at her fingernails; Rachel could tell by her reaction that something wasn't being said. "Monica?" She questioned her by just the use of her name, giving the table a gentle knock to gain her attention.

"Pete's planning to propose," Monica informed, wincing when Rachel near-screeched back at her.

"What?! Oh my God! How do you **know** that?"

"Pete told Emma, and Emma told Chandler, when he was babysitting her for me. I was… eavesdropping," she admitted reluctantly, slowly meeting Rachel's judgmental stare when her response wasn't immediate. "Don't look at me like that," Monica snipped, pushing off the chair and stepping over to the fridge. "I wasn't planning on hearing anything important! They were just talking about coloring, and it was cute, so, I stopped at the door to listen for a sec. It was all very innocent," she added as she retook her seat with the bottle of water she had just snagged for herself.

"Do you think that's why Chandler made a move on you?" Rachel asked. "Cause he knows Pete's planning to propose? A sort of, I better say something **now** before it's too late, kind of thing?"

"Maybe," Monica sighed, adding quickly, "But it doesn't matter why. There's just too much unpredictability there. Pete is… stable."

Rachel nodded, asking carefully, "And of course, you love Pete, right?"

"Love has nothing to do with it," Monica muttered as she looked away.

"Uhn! What the hell-? Monica!" Rachel scolded her, "Love has **everything** to do with it!"

"You should talk!" Monica shot back. "You're only marrying **Barry** cause he's rich! He's security!" she added sharply, asking, "Why is it ok for **you** to want that, but not me?"

"That's not the **only** reason," Rachel defended herself, adding, "And our situations are totally different! **You** are independent! You can live in the **real world**! I **can't**! And I can't live with my parents forever. And besides," she muttered, almost as if an afterthought, "I **do** love Barry."

"No, you don't," Monica stated accusingly. "You love what he represents. Same as me with Pete. Face it, Rach, love is for saps! Marriage **should** be like a business transaction! Then nobody gets hurt down the line!"

"Maybe you're right," Rachel said, as if in agreement, but quickly countered the statement. "Except, that's **not** how you really feel, Mon! I've known you since we were six years old! When we would hang pillow cases off the back of our heads and pretend we were getting married in a double ceremony to Kermit the frog and the six million dollar man!"

When Monica cracked a tiny smile at the memory, Rachel continued. "Even back **then**, you spoke of finding the perfect man. Your soul mate."

"Yeah, well, that was a child's dream," Monica said with an almost cold indifference. "And I'm not a child anymore. Time to stop thinking like one."

Knowing she had lost the battle, Rachel sighed, asking, "So, when Pete proposes, you're going to say yes?"

"Yes," she answered with feigned confidence.

Rachel nodded. "If I ask you a question, will you answer it honestly?"

Curiously, Monica arched an eyebrow. "Ok."

"If you had a guarantee, that Chandler wouldn't disappear again – If you could be sure he would be there for you, forever, would you be accepting Pete's proposal?"

For a moment, Monica considered lying, but the truth spilled out instead, actually surprising them both. "No."

An awkward silence slipped around them for several seconds, before Rachel finally broke it, asking, "Can I assume then, that you're going to be telling Chandler about his… connection, to Emma?"

"I haven't made a decision on that yet," Monica answered, shifting to stand, moving away from the table and for the kitchen sink. "I have to get cleaning here," she announced, letting it be known that her participation in the conversation was over.

Taking the hint, Rachel nodded as she stood, then called out to her honorary niece. "Emma? We gotta go, sweetie!"

"No junk food today, ok?" Monica asked of Rachel, her back still to her. "She's had enough over the past few days to develop heart disease **and** diabetes."

"Ok," Rachel laughed, stepping up behind her and setting her chin on her shoulder. "I love you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Monica smiled, "I know. I love you, too."

Wetting her fingers, Rachel flicked water at Monica playfully, then darted away before she could reciprocate.

"Can I want ice cream?" Emma asked immediately upon exiting her room, heading straight for Rachel with a hopeful look on her face.

"Not today," Rachel told her in a sad sympathetic tone of voice, but then added, upbeat, "But we can go to the park and throw breadcrumbs to the ducks!"

Satisfied with the tradeoff, Emma skipped over to Monica, gave her rear-end a hug goodbye, then danced out the door, Rachel in quick pursuit.

**XXX**

--The lunch rush was crawling to its death, not that Monica minded the busier time of day. Eleven to one and six to eight was the only time her talents were truly utilized, seeing as how at the slower times, the head chef did most of the cooking. Still, with the night she'd had coupled with her lack of sleep, it was nice to have the first rush of the day behind her.

"Monica," her coworker Paula called to her, interrupting the cleanup detail she had just begun, "You need to take your break. And that weird blonde friend of yours is here to see you."

"Ok, thanks," Monica muttered, finishing the task of wiping one of the counters first before walking away, towards the diningroom; she spotted Phoebe immediately upon stepping through the swinging door.

"Pheebs," Monica greeted her with a smile, "What's up?"

"You have a few minutes?" Phoebe asked, her tone and expression bordering on serious, which prompted the smile to drop from Monica's face.

"A few," she answered, asking with concern, "Is something wrong?"

Phoebe shook her head, suggesting, "We should find someplace more private to talk."

Worry started to cause Monica's heart to pick up pace, but she kept her cool, nodded, then signaled for Phoebe to follow her back to the employee break room. Once there, Monica quickly shut the door, then spun around to face her friend, asking in an almost panic, "What's going on?"

"I was just wondering," Phoebe began, her demeanor hard to read, "When were you planning on telling me?"

Scowling, Monica asked, "Tell you what?"

"That Chandler is Emma's father," she shot back with quiet irritation, adding, "I'm always the last to know everything!"

Monica's jaw dropped in shock, at a loss for what to say in response, at first. Finally, she swallowed hard, asking sharply, "Did Rachel tell you?!"

"No!" Phoebe snipped back. "I just figured it out!"

"How?!" Monica challenged her, certain she was lying and looking to catch her at it.

"Emma's birthday is August 17, 1989, which puts her conception date at guess where!" she asked rhetorically, answering immediately, "Thanksgiving, 1988!"

"That wasn't her conception date," Monica lied, starting to fluster. "She was premature, and--"

"At seven pounds, two ounces?" she countered, scoffing as she announced, "Preemies are like, five or six pounds! Or less! I should know," she added, "I was a midwife in a former life."

"Phoebe!" Monica snapped at her, "Chandler isn't the father!"

"It all makes sense!" Phoebe continued her accusation. "Why you guys are acting all weird around each other! Why Emma has taken to him so quickly!"

"Do you think that's why she has taken to him?" Monica asked abruptly, abandoning the lie in favor of insight. "Do you think she senses he's her father?"

Surprised by the question, and Monica's sudden change in behavior, Phoebe asked, "She doesn't know?"

Shaking her head, Monica whispered, "No one knows. Except for Rachel, because she was with me back when I took the pregnancy test, in the bathroom at the gas station near my house."

"Chandler doesn't know?" Phoebe asked, to which Monica again shook her head. "Then, what's going on with you two?"

"He wants me to dump Pete," Monica told her, laying all the cards out on the table, figuratively speaking. "**He** wants to be with me."

"He wants to be with you, even though he doesn't know he's Emma's father?" Phoebe asked, a wide smile crossing her face. "That's so great!"

Her brow furrowed, Monica asked, "How is it great?"

"Ok," Phoebe explained, "If he **knew** he was her father, he might just be saying he wants to be with you, cause he's trying to be a good guy, and do the right thing. See? But, he **doesn't** know! Which means, he wants to be with you cause he wants to be with you! Question is," she added, "How do **you** feel about **him**?"

Monica hesitated before answering, knowing once the words left her mouth, everything would change.

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Ok, two hours till midnight, and here I am, posting a chapter for all you nice folks! And all I ask in return, is for a teeny tiny review! Please?

Hope you all had a fun New Years Eve!

MTLBYAKY


	11. Chapter 10

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Ten

**XXX**

--"Question is," Phoebe asked her, almost challenging her, "How do **you** feel about **him**?"

Monica hesitated before answering, knowing once the words left her mouth, everything would change. She had been able to avoid outright admitting it to Rachel. She had even managed to sidestep it with Chandler. But with Phoebe staring back at her, her genuine expression asking for nothing shy of the truth, Monica found a sense of relief at finally deciding to be out with it.

"I was falling in love with him, back in eighty-eight," she told her, speaking softly, almost reverently. "And now, with him back in my life, those feelings have been resurfacing."

"You look so sad," Phoebe said in response, a sympathetic lilt to her voice. "Isn't this a **good** thing? He obviously likes **you**, and you like **him**! And he's Emma's daddy. Maybe this is where your happily ever after lies!"

"It's not as simple as that, Pheebs," Monica returned with a heavy sigh, taking a seat at the small table off the center of the room. "What about Pete? Then, what happens, when I tell Chandler? That I've been lying to him?"

"Well, ya'know, as far as Pete goes," Phoebe offered her take on the situation, "Relationships end sometimes. He'll get over it," she added, and Monica smiled as she realized, it was almost word for word, what Chandler had said. "As for the lying to him thing… What **did** you tell him?"

"I told him he wasn't her father," Monica shared, looking away guiltily. "He asked me straight up, and I told him he wasn't. Told him what I tell everyone. That it was some one-night stand I'd had just after moving to the city."

"Can I ask," Phoebe questioned her curiously, "Why **did** you tell everyone that? Why not just tell people the truth?"

"I didn't want people thinking poorly of Chandler," Monica answered, locking eyes with Phoebe to impress the importance of her decision. "I didn't find out I was pregnant, until **after** he had disappeared. To my parents, and to Ross, it would've looked bad. Like, he was using me, or something."

"But **you** obviously didn't think so," Phoebe interjected, "Or you wouldn't have protected him like that."

"I wasn't sure," she whispered, dropping her gaze again. "I didn't **think** so. I was **hoping**, but, I wasn't sure. It was easier to blame some faceless phantom."

"So," Phoebe suggested, "Just explain it to him. He seems like a really nice guy," she added, smiling when Monica looked up at her once again. "I'm sure he'll understand."

Feeling a sense of anxiety rise within her, Monica groaned softly as she rubbed her temples, admitting in a whisper, "I'm scared to."

"Why are you scared?" Phoebe asked compassionately, kneeling in front of her and placing a hand on her knee in a show of support. "What do **you** think is going to happen, if you tell him?"

"I think he'll hate me," she answered, tears starting to sting at the back of her eyes. "And I just – I can't stand the thought of him hating me. And what if he gets **so** mad, he tries to sue for custody of Emma?" she offered hypothetically. "Just to hurt me?"

"Monica," Phoebe scoffed, "Neither of those things are going to happen. You want to know what's going to happen?" she asked, and Monica stared back at her warily for a moment before nodding. "He's going to be bent out of shape for a while, at **first**. Just, give him time, and he'll come around. Then, I see one of two things happening. He'll either **A**, want to start up a relationship with you, and you'll all live happily ever after, or **B**, you'll move on to being the best of friends, and together will be **the** most fantastic parenting team to Emma. Either way," she added, "This **will** end happily."

Smiling, Monica asked, "How do you **do** that?"

"Do what?" Phoebe asked innocently.

"Know **just** what to say to me, so that my life **doesn't** feel like it's falling apart? Or hopeless," she answered, swiping the few tears that finally broke free from off her cheeks.

Shrugging as she stood, Phoebe gushed, "It's a gift."

Monica nodded in agreement, pushing off her chair and moving to wrap her friend in a hug of appreciation. "Thanks, Pheebs," she sighed, pausing before adding, "I have to get back to work now."

"Ok, but, before you do, can I give you some advice?" she asked, and Monica nodded against her shoulder before pulling back, gesturing for her to go ahead. "Talk to Pete **before** you talk to Chandler. Pete's a good guy, and he deserves to know where you stand."

"Yeah," Monica muttered, fidgeting slightly, adding, "He's coming by later, so we can grab a late dinner. I'll end it with him then."

"Good. And be honest with him, ok?" Phoebe suggested, smiling reassuringly. "He's going to handle this better than you think he is."

**XXX**

--Though she should've been hungry, Monica barely touched her food, raw nerves causing her stomach to churn uncomfortably. She was about to break the heart of a man who was perfectly nice in every way, but who she sadly, had no real romantic feelings for.

How much easier would it be if I did, she wondered, sighing as she pushed a lone cherry tomato around her salad plate.

All too aware of her odd mood, Pete finally broached the subject, asking, "You seem quiet tonight. Bad day?"

"You could say that," Monica answered, barely making eye contact for a split second, adding, "And I think it's about to get worse."

"Why's that?" he asked, setting his fork down and staring back at her intently.

"Pete," she began, sighing as she slid her plate away and to the side of the table, "We have to talk."

"Ah," he returned with a brief smile, asking, "And does this talk we have to have, have to do with **us**?"

A sheepish expression crossed her face as she finally met his eyes, nodding slightly. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," he muttered, shaking his head. "I know. Me too."

"It's not you," she told him, trying to lessen his assumed pain. "It's **me**."

Laughing shortly, he added, "It's not **just** you."

Though she was pretty sure she knew what he was referring to, she opted to play dumb, scowling as she asked, "What do you mean?"

"Mon," he scoffed, "C'mon. Let's be grownups about this, ok? I'm just glad you figured it out **before** we made commitments we would need a court of law to get out of."

Nodding, she looked away, near whispering, "I really **am** sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I know," he told her, placing his hand over hers consolingly. "You can't help who you fall in love with," he sighed, asking, "And he feels the same about you?"

"I think so," she answered, adding, "I don't know what the future holds, I just know, it wouldn't be fair to **you**, to date you while I'm feeling like this."

"Thanks," he said, removing his hand from hers, prompting her to look up at him, "For taking my feelings into consideration."

"Don't thank me," she asked of him, her tone self deprecating. "I don't deserve that **or** your kindness. You should be yelling at me," she added, holding in a breath as if she expected him to start doing just that.

"You're too hard on yourself," he laughed. "Relationships end sometimes," he said to her, reaching for and into his billfold to retrieve his credit card, "And yelling won't change anything."

"Might make you feel better," she suggested with the slightest of grins, and he laughed again as he shook his head.

"Nah. But, you know what you **could** do for me?" he asked, waving casually for the waiter to bring the check.

"What?" she asked curiously, meekly.

"Be honest with me about something," he said, handing the waiter his credit card as soon as he reached the table. When the man walked away, Pete stared back at Monica pointedly, pausing before asking, "Chandler is Emma's father, isn't he?"

Nodding, she whispered, "But he doesn't know yet. Only Rachel and Phoebe know."

"You're going to tell him, aren't you?" he asked, adding with conviction, "If **I** were a father, I would want to know."

"Yes," she said, "I am. Tonight. Can I ask, why did you suspect him to be? Why did you ask me?"

He shrugged, muttering, "I don't know. Little things. The way you are, when they're spending time together. How they are with each other. She kinda looks like him," he added, and she nodded in agreement immediately.

"I know she does," Monica sighed, but a small knowing grin crept onto her face as she added, "In the eyes, and in her smile."

"I'm going to miss her." The sadness in his tone caused her heart to ache, and she threw him a sympathetic look in response.

"You can still come see her," she offered, "If you want."

"Probably best if I don't," he said, signing his name on the check receipt when the waiter set it in front of him. "Just, tell her…" He trailed off, sighing, waiting for the waiter to leave before finishing his thoughts. "Tell her, I will **always** be her Unca Pete."

Tears broke free, splashing onto her cheeks, and she nodded as she choked out, "I will. I promise."

**XXX**

--Never more nervous in her life, with the exception of the day she learned she was pregnant, Monica paced outside her own apartment, knowing that as soon as she walked through the door, her life would change forever.

Clinging to the thread of hope Phoebe had dangled earlier, Monica gathered what she could of what would have to pass for courage, then turned the knob and stepped through the door, immediately being met by five sets of eyes. Startled to see them all there, she stopped abruptly, briefly catching each person's gaze before moving to hang up her coat and purse.

"What's going on?" she asked, trying to sound casual but knowing she far from did.

"We got caught up playing Candyland with Emma," Ross explained, "Before we put her down to bed."

"Then we got to talking," Rachel added, "And since Ross couldn't leave to go to the coffeehouse, we all just stuck around. Is that ok?" she asked, and Monica smiled back at her as she approached the livingroom, staying on the kitchen side of the couch and leaning against it.

"Yeah," she said, waving dismissively at the indication that their presence was a potential problem, "That's fine."

"How was your date?" Phoebe asked, to which Monica near glared back at her, quickly wiping it away when she realized the others, Chandler specifically, had gained sudden interest in her pending answer.

Briefly, she wondered if Phoebe had told everyone about her plans to break up with Pete, but thought better of it near instantly. Phoebe wouldn't do such a thing, she was sure of it.

"Not good, actually," Monica admitted, dropping her eyes to the floor beside her. "I broke up with Pete tonight."

Everyone but Chandler jumped up and rushed towards her, asking why and offering sympathies, and while Monica was appreciative of their support and concern, her attention was more on the reactions of the man who remained seated on the floor near the coffee table.

"It was always just nice with Pete," Monica explained to the group gathered around her. "I want more than nice. I want love, and passion. And it wasn't fair to **him**, to keep dating him, when I didn't see a future with him."

"So, you date him till the love and passion guy comes along!" Joey scoffed; his accompanying expression seemed to be asking her if she had lost her mind.

Taking a deep breath to settle her tumultuous nerves, Monica whispered in response, "He already has."

Without thinking, Phoebe and Rachel both abruptly looked over at Chandler, whose eyes were locked on Monica, and slowly, catching on, Ross and Joey looked to him as well.

The air grew thicker with the tension in the room, and to Monica, it felt like she was going to suffocate in it. With effort, she swallowed the lump that had started to form in her throat, then, as if moving in slow motion, eventually met Chandler's eyes.

There was no way to know what he was thinking, his expression guarded, but that quickly became a moot point, as he pushed off the floor and stepped with purpose towards Monica. Rachel and Phoebe backed away immediately, but when Ross and Joey stood cemented in place, the girls grabbed their arms and yanked them back with them, inching near the large bay window.

There were a million things to say, and a thousand questions to ask, but all that could wait. Understanding what had happened didn't matter nearly as much as taking her into his arms and losing himself in her kiss.

It seemed to take a century for him to reach her, but when he finally did, she threw herself into his arms, their lips instantly melding together, a hundred emotions being expressed with that simple, intense, fantastic act.

**To be continued?**

Author's note:

Ok, folks, **you** decide! Initially, I had planned to go into Monica telling Chandler that he is Emma's father, and all that would inevitably follow with that, but in order to continue, I need to see some reviews! See? I can be really really nice, or really really mean. Today, I've chosen mean, heeheehee.

I swear to all that is good and pure, it won't kill you to click the little button and share a few words. So, do just that, and I will continue.

Also, Mondler season two tribute is up on YouTube, if you wanna check it out. User name: janaonwheels

MTLBYAKY


	12. Chapter 11

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Eleven

**XXX**

--Shock made way for acceptance, as the four friends looked around at each other, and at the kissing couple, expressions varying from confusion to wide smiles. The sweet romantic moment and the silence of the room was shattered, however, when the surprising words, which came from the most unlikely of sources, hit the air.

"Well, it's about time!"

Everyone's attention, including Monica and Chandler's, was Ross' instantly.

Scoffing at the odd looks he was receiving, Ross announced, "What? They've only been into each other since 1988! Then, when he moved in across the hall? You could cut the tension with a knife! Plus, with him being Emma's father and all--"

Gasps and faces filled with utter astonishment stopped Ross' declaration short, and he stammered for a moment, unsure of what to say next, before he finally asked, "Was I the only one that had that figured out?"

No one answered his question, all attention instead was on Chandler and Monica. It was like a train wreck you knew you shouldn't be watching, but can't turn away from. Time seemed to stand still as they only stared back at one another for close to a minute, though with the stress of the situation, it seemed a lot longer.

"You lied to me?" Chandler whispered, and the others instantly took that as their cue to leave.

"We're gonna get going," Rachel said as she headed for the door, the others muttering in agreement and following hurriedly behind her, the group as a unit almost clamoring for the exit.

Goodbyes were said, but neither involved in the tense stare-off responded.

Once alone, Chandler repeated the question, the hurt expression and tone making way for something that more closely resembled anger. "You **lied** to me?"

"You have every right to be mad, Chandler," she offered quickly, then asked of him, "But can you please just let me explain before you start hating me?"

When he only stared back, almost challenging her with his stern gaze, she continued.

"When I found out I was pregnant, I tried to find you! I swear I did! Even harder than I had before! I asked Ross again, the college administrators, your **teachers**! Friends! Classmates! I couldn't find you! I was running out of time! I had to start telling people. I was already starting to show! I-- I didn't want people, and by people, I mean my parents, to think poorly of you, so, I made up the lie about the one-night stand. To give them some faceless man to hate, instead of them hating **you**. I don't know, it just-- It made sense at the time. It made sense to tell everyone the same lie! When you asked-- I should've told you the truth, I know that, but, I-- I didn't know how to admit it. I didn't know how you were going to react. You'd been back in my life a grand total of 12 minutes! What would **you** have done?"

"I don't know," he admitted with a sigh, rounding the couch and sitting heavily upon it. "I don't know, **anything**, right now."

Joining him, she sat at the farthest end of the sofa, away from him, her eyes pleading with him to understand. Phoebe had said he would be upset at first, but that he would get over it. She had mentally prepared herself for his reaction, but being faced with it, panic started to well up inside her.

"Well," she asked softly, cautiously, struggling against her fear, "Do you **want to be** her father?"

"You ask like there's a choice," he scoffed, adding, "I **am** her father."

"Right, but, I mean, do you want the **role** of father?" she asked more specifically, holding her breath unknowingly as she awaited his answer.

"I don't know," he answered, slumping forward, his elbows on his knees. "I think so. I just-- I don't know!" he exclaimed suddenly, jumping up and beginning to pace.

"Ok, ok," she soothed, standing but keeping her distance. "You don't have to decide now," she added, attempting to ease his frustration.

"You lied to me!" he snapped at her, and she nodded solemnly in response.

"I know," she whispered remorsefully, "And I'm sorry I did."

"You had me thinking **you** thought I was a **pervert**!" he shot back, ignoring her apology. "You had me thinking **you** thought I was **weird**, for liking her! And spending time with her!"

"I never thought you were a pervert," she assured him, putting to use her most calming tone of voice. "And I never thought **you** were weird. I thought the **situation** was weird. Cause she doesn't usually warm up to people so quickly, and because you took to her, too, even though you didn't know she was your daughter."

"Daughter," he breathed, suddenly feeling lightheaded and unstable on his feet. Slumping to the floor in slow motion, he landed on his knees, his hand slamming to the ground as he attempted to steady himself.

Concerned, Monica rushed to his side, kneeling very near him. "You need a bag to breathe into?" she asked sympathetically, quickly adding in suggestion, "Or, maybe you should put your head between your knees."

"I'll be fine," he told her, shifting so he was flat on his rear instead of on his knees. "It just feels, like I've been hit with a ton of bricks," he added, smiling slight in her direction briefly, which to Monica was the first sign that he would, in time, forgive her.

"I'm sorry it was blurted out like that," she apologized, sitting beside him. "I didn't know Ross knew! Rachel is the only person I've ever told!"

"Ross and Rachel are the only ones who know then?" he assumed, but after a moment's pause, she shook her head in answer. "Who else knows?"

"I didn't tell them," she prefaced, "But, Phoebe and Pete both know. They guessed, I guess. Or, figured it out somehow."

"Pete knows?" he asked, surprised, and she nodded hesitantly in response. "Since when?"

"Well, I confirmed it tonight," she told him, adding, "But I don't know for how long he's suspected."

There was a long drawn out silence, neither one sure just what to say or ask next, before Chandler finally spoke up, asking, "Could I get a glass of water or something?"

"Sure!" Monica exclaimed, pushing off the floor and heading immediately to grab a clean glass off the shelf. She was vaguely aware that he had stood, too, but startled when she spun around after filling the glass at the sink, to find him only inches away from her. His close proximity instantly made her nervous, and she smiled sheepishly as she extended the glass towards him.

He nodded once as a thank you before taking the glass and downing half of it in seconds. "So," he asked as he set the glass on the counter near the stove, "What do we do now?"

"That's entirely up to you," she answered, nervously adding, "What do **you** want to do?"

"I don't know yet," he said with a burdened sigh, asking, "Can I, spend time with her? Just me and her? Maybe take her to the park?"

Fidgeting at the request, she stammered for an answer, muttering, "Well, sure. Yeah. If you want. I guess."

"That right there," he announced, pointing at her. "That weird nervous thing you do, whenever I've been around her, or when I offered to babysit! **That's** what makes me think **you** think I shouldn't be around her!"

"It's not that, Chandler," she told him, exhaling sharply before adding, "It's just, a mommy thing. I'm protective of her."

"And you think I'm going to do her harm?" he challenged her, his brow furrowed, his expression a cross between hurt and angry.

"No," she shot back instantly, adding meekly, "Not on purpose."

Scoffing, he asked, "What's **that** supposed to mean?"

"It's just, you have to watch kids **very** closely at this age!" she explained herself. "They get into **everything**, and wander off in the blink of an eye! You haven't really been around kids! Much. Before."

"No, you're right," he sighed, "I haven't been around kids much. But, I'm also not an idiot!" he snipped at her, obviously upset. "I **know** to watch little kids closely! You don't need to be around kids much to know **that**!"

"Ok, I'm sorry," she apologized, almost submissively, "I didn't mean to upset you."

"God, what would it be like if you **were**?" he chuckled grimly to himself.

Uncertain of exactly what he meant by his biting rhetorical question, she asked him in a similar tone of voice, "Meaning **what**?"

"You don't **mean** to upset me?" he challenged her, scoffing bitterly before adding, "I would hate to be on the receiving end of things, when you **were** trying to hurt someone!"

"I'm not trying to be hurtful!" she countered, offended. "I'm just trying to be a good mom to my daughter!"

"**Our** daughter," he corrected, adding harshly, "And I would like to get to know her!"

"I **want** you to get to know her!" she shot back, her sharp tone dulling as she added, "I'm just scared, alright?"

"Why are you scared?" he asked, his combative manner softening to some extent with her confession.

"I don't know how to put it into words," she answered, almost sadly, shrugging as she looked away. "I've had help, but, it's pretty much just been me, for all these years, raising her, and it's just, I don't know, scary, to involve a new person."

"Monica," he sighed, sympathetic, "Did you think I was going to start making demands on how she's raised or something?" When she didn't answer him, he continued, telling her, "I just want to be a part of her life! And maybe have you consult with me on stuff, from time to time."

"So, you want the role of father then?" she asked carefully, not wanting to assume, but hoping for a more definite answer than she had before been given.

"I don't know how to be a father," he admitted, "But I know I want to be **something**."

Smiling, she told him, "I didn't know how to be a mom, before I became one. You learn," she added, stepping closer to him, touching his arm hesitantly. "I can help you," she offered, looking up at him hopefully, "If you want."

For a moment, his intense expression ebbed, as if considering and preparing to accept her offer, but as quickly as the ease in tension had arrived, it was again yanked away, a cold distance emanating from him.

"I need time to process all this, ok?" he said to her, taking a move towards the door.

She nodded in understanding, but quickly called his name to stop his departure, her heart pounding, thundering in her ears as she asked, "What about **us**?"

"I need time to process that, too," he answered, turning away, muttering, "Sorry."

"Chandler, please," she begged of him, "Don't go. Let's just, talk about this, ok?"

"Later," he said, pausing at the door for only a split second before opening it and leaving, shutting it softly once through it.

Devastated, Monica dropped into a dining chair, covering her face with her hands as tears began to fall. "Oh, God," she whispered, "Please let Phoebe be right about this."

--Chandler pushed through the door of his apartment, surprised when he was met by Ross, Joey, Phoebe, and Rachel, all watching him enter with inquisitive expressions on their faces.

"What happened?" Phoebe asked abruptly, and Chandler's entire body seemed to slump as he stepped heavily over to the counter, leaning against it for support before answering.

"I told her I needed to be alone for a while. To think."

"Chandler," Phoebe said to him, involving herself in an attempt to help the situation, "She only lied to you because she was scared."

"And because she's so used to doing it, it just comes second nature to her now," Rachel added, to which he nodded in response.

"She explained all that to me," he muttered, "But it's still a lot to take."

"We know," Phoebe agreed with him, asking, "But you **can** take it, can't you?"

Choosing his words carefully, he answered, "She said I didn't have to decide anything right now."

"Dude," Joey interjected, "How the hell are **you** Emma's father?"

"Joseph!" Phoebe snipped through gritted teeth, "Show a little tact!"

"It's a long story," Chandler groaned, uncomfortable going into even the slightest of details while in Ross' presence.

Undeterred, Joey pressed further, asking, "We know it happened at Thanksgiving, but, what **happened**?"

Glancing first at Ross, Chandler told him, "I'm not really comfortable discussing this… now."

"Because of me," Ross surmised, giving Chandler an upnod before telling him, "You don't **have** to talk about it, but, just so you know, it's ok if you do. And, actually, I am a bit curious to know, you know, what **did** happen. Minus the intimate details, of course."

Chandler stared back at him for a long moment, a concerned frown on his face. "How do you not hate me?" he finally asked, almost abruptly, his eyes narrow slits as he awaited the answer.

Ross laughed. "I don't **hate** you. Why would I **hate** you?"

"Cause I was with your baby sister, then just, disappeared!" Chandler shot back, his tone sharp but respectful.

"**She** didn't hate you," he answered, in an almost casual way, "Why should **I**?"

Curiosity winning over supposed unwritten rules of etiquette, Chandler found himself asking, "How did you even know we were together? How did you know **I** was Emma's father? Monica said she didn't tell you--"

"She **didn't** tell me," Ross interrupted. "I figured it out. When everyone went to bed, after we got back from the hospital," he explained, "**You** were still pissed at Monica, and **she** was depressed cause you were. Breakfast the next morning, you guys were all smiles and icky sweet towards one-another. Didn't take a genius to figure it out."

"Then, why didn't you kick my ass?" Chandler asked him, completely thrown by his demeanor. "When we got back on campus, why didn't you confront me?"

"Monica was happy. **You** seemed happy." Shrugging his shoulders, he added, "It didn't seem like a 'kick your ass' situation."

"And me being Emma's father?" Chandler then questioned him. "When did you have **that** figured out?"

"It occurred to me when she first announced she was pregnant," he answered, "But she was completely insistent that it was this one-night Steven guy, so, I didn't push the issue. Then, when she went into labor," he continued, "Supposedly prematurely, but Emma weighed in at seven pounds, two ounces, I knew."

"Cause that's too big for a preemie!" Phoebe chimed in triumphantly, proud of herself for having figured out Monica's big secret.

"Exactly," he said to her, then turned his attention back to Chandler. "I even asked her, right after she gave birth, if there was anything she wanted to tell me, hoping she would open up to me, but, she said no, and has always kept to the Steven story. I figured, she had her reasons, so, I left it alone."

"It didn't occur to you, when we ran into each other in the hall on Friday, to give me a heads up?" Chandler asked, irritation edging his tone. "Hey, Chandler," he exclaimed, playing out a conversation he felt Ross should have had with him, "Monica lives across the hall! Why don't you go say hi? And, by the way, she gave birth to your child four years ago! Just thought you oughta know!"

In an attempt to calm him, and to show his understanding, Ross put a hand on his shoulder, exhaling sharply before responding to his tirade.

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Sorry it took a little longer getting this out. And sorry if the chapter seems a little 'off'. I got a bad review, and it kinda shook me a little. I don't think I write as well, when my confidence takes a hit like that, but, my daughter says I'm just being weird, and that this chapter is fine. You tell me. If people think it sucks, I'll rewrite it. If you like it, I'll leave it and continue on from here.

Thanks, and MTLBYAKY


	13. Chapter 12

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Twelve

**XXX**

--In an attempt to calm him, and to show his understanding, Ross put a hand on Chandler's shoulder, exhaling sharply before responding to his tirade.

"It wasn't my place to tell you," Ross stated calmly, "It was Monica's."

"But you had no problem just, blurting it out like you did," Rachel laughed, a touch of snide humor in her tone, which prompted Ross to glare back at her.

"I thought she had already told him," Ross explained his actions. "I mean, what with the kissing and all."

"I know you're upset right now, Chandler," Phoebe said, changing the direction of the conversation slightly, "And you have every reason to be! But, you gotta know, Monica is crazy about you!"

"I'm crazy about her, too!" he shot back. "But, she **lied** to me! What kind of relationship can we **possibly** expect to have, if she can't even be honest with me about something **so** important?"

"This has been hard for her," Rachel interjected, assisting Phoebe in her meddling. "And it's not like she lied to you for years! It's been, like, four days!"

"She was just scared to tell you," Phoebe added, Rachel nodding in agreement.

"Scared of **what**?" Chandler asked, sounding almost exasperated.

"Scared that you would hate her," Phoebe answered. "And that she would end up losing you again."

"She's not gonna **lose** me," Chandler announced, "And I certainly don't **hate** her! I'm just, **upset**."

"Understandably," Ross jumped in, adding, "But, Chandler, put yourself in Monica's shoes for a minute, huh? She has spent the last almost five years, worrying about **this** moment. Wondering how she would tell you, and how you would react, if she ever saw you again. You showing up here on Friday, completely changed her world."

"I understand that," Chandler sighed, adding as he pushed away from the counter, "And I'm not unsympathetic, but, it's not **just** the lying I'm upset about. In four days time," he explained, "She's made me feel like a pervert, a weirdo, **and** an immature idiot! All because Emma likes me!"

"Emma's behavior towards you is very uncharacteristic of her," Ross offered in explanation. "It just, freaked her out a little."

"And the fact that **you** took to her as quickly," Phoebe added, "Had her wondering if somehow, on some level, the two of you **knew** you were related, which just freaked her out all the more."

"Plus," Joey chimed in, finally getting involved in the conversation, "She's really protective of her! She wouldn't even leave me alone with her, for the first year I knew them."

"Yeah," Chandler muttered, "Pete said something about that."

"You talked with Pete about it?" Rachel asked curiously, and Chandler nodded in response.

"Late Sunday," he answered. "He said she was a bit overprotective of her, and that I shouldn't take her distrust of me personally."

"She doesn't distrust you," Rachel told him with absolute certainty. "She never would have left you alone with her, if she did."

"You're not going to let all this stop you from trying with her, are you?" Phoebe asked, almost abruptly, adding, "You guys owe it to yourselves, to at least **see** if you can make it work. To yourselves, **and** to Emma."

Sighing, Chandler said, "Look, I know you guys mean well, and I appreciate it, but, I just don't know **anything** right now, ok?" Glancing at his watch, he added, "And it's getting late, so, I'm gonna head for bed now. Thanks for the talk."

As he walked away, they called out goodnights to him, which he returned as he disappeared into his room, leaving the rest of them staring around at each other.

"I'm gonna go give Monica a hug," Phoebe announced, grabbing her purse and jacket off the foosball table. "She's gotta be twelve kinds of upset right now. Who's with me?"

They all nodded and followed.

**XXX**

--The only one not stressed at breakfast Tuesday morning, was Emma, happily oblivious to adult tension within her four year old mind.

For Chandler, the anxiety he felt was mostly wrapped around the request he was planning to make, certain that when he did, Monica would react negatively. Determined, and prepared for the inevitable argument that was more than likely to follow, he cleared his throat, gaining everyone in the room's attention.

"I was hoping to take Emma to the park today," he started, looking into his breakfast plate to avoid the expression on Monica's face, taking renewed interest in the eggs he'd barely touched up till that point.

"Yay!" Emma cheered, immediately chattering about all the things she wanted to do while at the playground, completely unaware of the stern look on her mother's face, or the uneasy glances shared by her honorary and actual uncles and aunts.

"Chandler," Monica said, her teeth clinched, a forced smile on her face, "Can I speak with you alone for a minute?"

Nodding, he dropped his fork with a loud clank, then stood and followed her as she headed for her room. She turned to face him once inside, reaching past him to shut the door before ripping into him.

"Do **not** ask for time with her, in front of her!" she demanded angrily. "You take me aside and ask, and **if** I say yes, we tell Emma! Now, she's excited to go, and **I** will seem like an ogre if I tell her no!"

"**If**?" he asked, glaring back at her. "You **said** last night that I could spend time with her! Did you change your mind?" he challenged her, folding his arms across his chest huffily.

"No," she answered, her tone and expression only slightly softer than before, "It's just, how we do things. Once something is said, to a four year old, it's near impossible to take it back. And they don't handle disappointment well."

"So, if I had asked you **first**," he countered, "Before mentioning it in front of Emma, your answer would have been?"

"Yes," she said, sighing as her gaze dropped to the floor, focusing on the laces of his casual sneakers.

"And, because I broke protocol," he asked indignantly, "Your answer is?"

"It's still yes," she told him, adding, "But, in the future, we need to discuss outings **first**, before you tell Emma about them."

"Fine," he returned sharply. "I apologize."

"Fine," she repeated with a similar inflection, adding, "Apology accepted."

"So," he asked after pausing for a needed moment to get his irritation in check, "Is after breakfast ok?"

"That's fine," she agreed, asking, "Which park, how are you getting there, how long are you going to be, and when do you expect to be back?"

Scowling back at her, he muttered, "Your confidence and trust in me is overwhelming."

"It's not **that**," she shot back, rolling her eyes. "I do this with **everyone**!"

"Fine," he huffed. "Central Park, walking, a couple hours, and when a couple hours is up."

Giving him a sideways glance, an almost glare, she snipped back at him, "And if you could **not** do that sarcastic humor thing right now, that would be great."

"It comes naturally," he returned, slightly indignant, adding with the intent to hurt her, "Just like lying comes to you."

"Nice," she bit back, asking, "I'm not in enough pain? You have to take jabs at me?"

"What about **my** pain?" he argued. "Here is this fantastic little person, who doesn't even know who I am! Look at all I've missed out on! And I know that's **my** fault, and I'm mad at myself for it, trust me! But I'm mad at you, too! You **lied** to me!"

Pain turning to anger, she near shouted, "I know I did! And I'm sorry! But, oh my God! Are you so **incredibly** thick headed, that you can't even **try** to see this from my point of view?"

"I could ask you the same question," he answered, his eyes locked on hers, near immediately asking, "Were you **ever** planning on telling me? If Ross hadn't blurted it out?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact!" she announced, informing him smugly, "I was planning on telling you last night!"

"Yeah, right," he scoffed, rolling his eyes and looking away.

"You calling me a liar?" she challenged him, and he laughed in response.

"You **are** a liar, Monica! I asked you if I was--" He stopped abruptly, lowering his voice before continuing. "I asked you if I was her father," he whispered sharply, "And you said I wasn't! Is that or is that **not** a lie?"

"You show up on my doorstep after five years!" she snapped, only indirectly answering his question. "I don't **know** you! I barely knew you back **then**! I like to get to know the people I subject my daughter to!"

"So, you were planning on telling me **after** you got to know me?" he asked, less combatively.

"Possibly," she answered honestly.

"**Possibly**?" he snipped, his hands sweeping through the air in dramatic gesture before dropping them to his side. "You **actually** considered **not** telling me?"

"If you had turned out to be a horrible person, yeah!" she shot back, adding, "I'm sorry, but I won't subject my daughter to assholes!"

At first, his brain focused on the final word out of her mouth, till he replayed the entire statement inside his brain. "**If**?" was all he said, his entire stance changing, the tension he felt and exhibited dissolving.

Following his example, she took a breath and settled herself before responding. "Yes, **if**. You're **not** a horrible person, Chandler," she told him, admitting, "I am. For how I've handled all of this."

"You're not a horrible person, Monica," he sighed. "You were just trying to do right by your daughter," he added, stating softly, "I can't fault you for that."

"**Our** daughter," she corrected, smiling slight, whispering, "And thank you. For trying to see my side of this."

"I can only imagine how hard all of this has been for you," he said as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, shrugging as he added, "Doing the single mom thing and all, just to have the sperm donor show up unannounced and change everything."

"I never thought of you as a sperm donor," she told him, stepping closer, wanting to touch him but afraid of the possible rejection. "That night was very special to me. And not just because I got a beautiful little girl out of it."

"It was special to me, too," he admitted, the hint of a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"We're not fighting anymore." It was a cross between a statement and a question, her eyes searching his for some sign of how to continue.

"Doesn't appear so," he said, asking, "Should we be?"

"I would rather not," she answered, sighing nervously before asking, "Does this mean you can forgive me?"

"I want to," he said, looking to the floor before reinitiating eye contact.

"What's stopping you?" she asked, her brow furrowed in slight concern of his answer.

Firmly, almost scolding, he answered, "Your word, that when it comes to Emma, you won't lie to me anymore."

Like a small child being reprimanded, she shook her head, promising, "I won't, I swear."

"And you'll let me spend time with her," he added, "And get to know her."

"Of course!" she announced, assuring him, "I want you to get to know her!"

Nodding, he concluded with, "And… you'll let me gather you into my arms and kiss you right now, before my heart bursts through my chest."

Tears instantly pooled and broke free, relief and other emotions overwhelming her. Smiling, he reached out and gently wiped the wet from her cheeks, inching closer, until his lips were hovering over hers teasingly.

"Don't cry," he whispered. "The hard part's behind us."

She nodded, melting into him as he finally closed the gap between them, kissing her in the familiar thrilling way she knew she would never grow tired of.

"Guys?" The soft voice interrupting on the other side of the door was accompanied by a light rapping. "You might want to hurry it up in there. Emma's socks and shoes are on, and she's literally bouncing off the furniture impatiently."

Pulling back, Chandler scoffed light-heartedly at the disruption, calling out, "Be right there, Ross."

"You should get going," Monica agreed with her brother's disembodied suggestion, adding, "We can pick this up later."

Only staring back for a long silent moment, he gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear before asking of her, "Come with us."

"To the park?" she asked, and when he nodded in answer, her grin widened. "I don't have to," she told him. "I trust you."

"Thank you," he whispered, adding, "And I know you don't **have** to. I'm asking you to. It'll be a sort of, family outing, kind of thing."

His words promised the possibility of a future with him, warming her entire body as her heart climbed into her throat. "Just give me a minute to change," she choked out, struggling to keep her voice as normal sounding as possible, and he smiled knowingly before turning away to leave.

But as soon as his hand touched the doorknob, he stopped, spinning back around to face her. "When should we tell Emma?" he asked, adding, "You know, about…" He trailed off, gesturing to himself, his tone and expression requesting guidance.

"We'll sit down and decide, **together**," she answered, "Later tonight, ok?"

Nodding, he asked hopefully, "Before or after we make love?"

Blushing slightly, she grinned back at him, asking with a touch of humor, "Depends. Are we going to fight some more?"

"I hope not," he laughed.

"Then before," she said, pointing at the door, adding, "I'll be right out."

Stepping up to the door, he stopped short of leaving once again, smiling as he glanced over his shoulder. "I never thought I'd say this, but I think you lobbing off my pinky toe, is going to end up being the best thing that has ever happened to me."

It was the sweetest, strangest, most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her, and she laughed as she joked in return, "Just don't ask me to flirt, and I think your remaining nineteen digits are safe."

"Fair enough," he smirked, adding as he hooked his thumb towards the door, "I'll just be out there, peeling Emma off the ceiling."

He heard her laugh as he walked out the door, entering the livingroom where, all eyes were suddenly on him, and the smile dropped from his face as he glanced at each of them in turn.

"Well?" Phoebe asked curiously. "What happened?"

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Sorry for the confusion, but the bad review was for 'Rough Seas', not 'Big Secret'. Thank you for the support on that issue. I know I shouldn't let the very few bad reviews I receive bother me, but, as some of you know, I have insanely low self esteem, and I tend to wallow in negativity. Sorry if it affected the story in any way.

Onto this chapter and story… I initially planned on dragging out Chandler's anger and irritation, but after rereading what I have already written, and the concept and outline I had for this story, I decided that it would be slightly out of character, for him to continue being agitated, after hearing **her** side of things, and everyone else's take on things. Hope it doesn't seem too abrupt.

One or two more chapters, I think, and then onto a new story. Also Mondler, based on a song I **loved** from the early 90s.

Also, season three Mondler tribute is up on YouTube, user name: janaonwheels

Thanks for reading, and please review!

MTLBYAKY


	14. Chapter 13

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Thirteen

**XXX**

--As soon as Chandler hit the livingroom, before Monica's bedroom door was even latched closed, the four friends who had been left at the breakfast table converged on him.

"Well? What happened?" Phoebe asked, everyone else nodding in support of her question, and Chandler had to laugh at the eager to know expressions they all were wearing.

"You people are a real close knit group, aint'cha?" he asked, catching Emma in mid-jump as she used the chair as a trampoline. "I don't think your mommy would like you to be bouncing on the furniture with your shoes on," he told her, setting her feet firmly back on the hardwood floor.

"Or at all," Phoebe added, asking again, "What happened in there?"

Sighing, reluctant to share details, he told them, "Everything is fine, ok?"

"Fine, like, **really** fine?" Rachel asked. "Or, fine like, no one is going to kill someone today, kind of fine?"

"The first thing you said," he laughed, adding, "We talked, and, we worked stuff out, ok?"

"Just like that?" Ross asked, somewhat amazed. "You were pretty mad," he reminded, adding skeptically, "How could you get over that so quickly? What could she have possibly said?"

Smiling, more to himself than for any other reason, he muttered, "She said **if**."

Scowling, Ross said, "I don't understand."

"You don't need to," Chandler returned, giving him a quick pat on the back before heading for the door. "Tell Monica I'm just getting my coat, ok?"

The group watched him intently as he disappeared out the door, until Monica emerged from her room.

"What happened?!" Rachel nearly shouted at her, taking her by surprise.

"What happened with what?" Monica asked in return, looking back on her friend like she had lost her marbles.

"In there! With Chandler!" Rachel exclaimed, the nosy-body side of her going through withdrawal like symptoms due to the lack of information on the subject.

"Speaking of," Monica asked as she glanced around the apartment, her eyes landing on the open bathroom door briefly before locking eyes once again with Rachel, "Where is he?"

"Getting his coat," she shot back, snipping impatiently, "What **happened**?!"

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head in slight amusement, she muttered as she headed for the kitchen sink, "It started off as a fight, then it just, changed into a conversation. A good conversation," she added, smiling as she began rinsing the breakfast dishes.

"How good?" Phoebe asked, smirking in response to Monica's obvious good mood.

"Well," Monica answered, "There was kissing, so, very, **very** good."

The group, minus Monica, who was still preoccupied, shared knowing looks and smiles, Ross then asking, "What did you say to him, that stopped him from being so angry?"

"**He** said you said **if**," Joey interjected, adding with a scowl of confusion, "But that doesn't make any sense."

"**If**?" Monica asked him, turning off the water then facing her friends, a scowl that matched Joey's etched into her expression.

"That's what he said," Ross told her, asking again, "What happened in there? What was said?"

"Well, a lot of things were said," Monica answered, wiping her hands on a nearby dishtowel before moving to grab her coat off the hook, adding, "But, ultimately, we both just settled down and tried to see things from the other's perspective."

"And then you said **if**?" Phoebe asked, her tone requesting clarification.

Shrugging, Monica mumbled distantly, in thought, "I guess so. I said a lot of things."

"You guys ready?" Chandler asked, appearing suddenly in the doorway, and Monica smiled and nodded in response.

"C'mon, Emma," Monica called to her, and Emma jumped up from the pile of toys she had been entertaining herself with and bolted for the door.

"Can I want ice cream?" she asked Chandler, causing him to laugh.

"You **just** had breakfast, Emma Lemma Ding Dong!" he answered, adding, "I don't think they even **sell** ice cream this early in the day!"

Pouting for a moment over the devastating news, she perked up quickly, asking, "Can I want a squishy pretzel with cimamen sugar?"

"This kid would eat junk food twenty four seven if I let her," Monica muttered in Chandler's general direction, then turning to her daughter, told her, "We'll see, ok?"

Seemingly satisfied with her mother's answer, Emma hopped up and down at Chandler's feet, near squealing, "Piggy back, Unca Bing!"

Taking a knee, Chandler waited for Emma to climb on, then reached around to steady her as he stood. "Bye, guys," he called out to the group who was watching the scene before them unfold with interest, Monica adding, "Lock up when you leave."

Inquisitive looks were shared, silence filling the room, until Ross spoke up and broke it.

"How quaint was **that**?"

"Norman Rockwell quaint," Rachel agreed, adding with slight irritation, "But we still don't know what happened!"

"Well, she obviously said something that got him to forgive her," Phoebe surmised, attempting to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"Yeah, **if**," Joey scoffed, grabbing the untouched bacon off Chandler's abandoned plate, ignoring the odd glances in his direction as he crammed it into his mouth.

"Well, ok," Phoebe said to Ross, "Didn't you say that he forgave her real quick for that toe thing? Maybe he's just not one to hold a grudge!"

"True," Ross answered, "And he's **not**," he added. "But, still, what was said to make this whole thing turn around so quickly has me baffled."

"Well, Chandler barely knows us," Phoebe announced, "So I don't think he'll tell us. But I bet Monica will," she added casually, snagging her coat and purse before suggesting, "Let's just leave it alone for now and ask **her** when **he's** not around."

Needing to leave for work, Ross followed Phoebe's lead and grabbed his coat as well, slipping into it as he muttered, "She seemed just as confused as **we** are. Chandler knows me pretty well," he informed as he gestured for everyone to start filing out the door, "Maybe he'll tell me if we're alone."

"Or, he might not tell you cause you're her brother," Rachel offered as a possible scenario, her eyes then landing on Joey. "You're his roommate! Maybe he'll tell **you**."

"He's only been my roommate for three days!" Joey shot back, uncomfortable with the burden of gathering information landing on him.

"Well," Rachel huffed, "You can **try**, can't you? It won't kill you to **try**, right? Just, ask him about it," she suggested in a much calmer and more soothing tone of voice, "And if he tells you, **great**! If he **doesn't** tell you, then, we'll see if Ross can't get something out of him."

"Guys," Phoebe asked suddenly, a pang of guilt hitting her, "Should we really be this hell bent on finding this out? Maybe we should just let sleeping dogs lie."

"I don't think it'll hurt anything to ask," Ross presumed, fishing his keys out of his pocket and closing the apartment door, preparing to lock it. "If they refuse to tell us, we'll drop it. Leave them alone about it. Ok, Pheebs?"

Reluctantly, she agreed, heading for the stairs and calling back over her shoulder, "Ok, fine, but don't come crying to me if the sleeping dogs bite you in the ass!"

**XXX**

--Leaning against the support bar nearby, Monica watched as Chandler pushed Emma on the swings, her legs pumping wildly though not at all rhythmically or correctly, squealing and making demands for more air.

"Higher, Unca Bing! Higher!"

"She's a bit of a daredevil, isn't she?" he asked Monica with a laugh, only pretending to push his daughter harder than before.

"Well, it usually goes one of two ways, with kids this age," Monica explained with a smirk. "They're either afraid of their own shadow, or they have no fear."

"No question which way **she** leans, eh?" he chuckled, noticing then as he glanced over at her, that her slight smile had faded, a more serious expression taking its place. "You ok?" he asked, his attention divided between pushing Emma and understanding Monica's sudden change in moods.

"Just thinking," she answered, forcing a reassuring grin, before dropping it and looking away.

"About?" he asked, slowly bringing Emma to a stop.

"Our conversation, earlier," she said, stepping up to help Emma hop down off the swing, requesting of her, "Sweetie, why don't you go play on the slide now, ok?"

Happily, Emma skipped off, Monica and Chandler following close behind, Chandler asking, "What about it?"

"We seemed to go from fighting to, well, **not** fighting, really quickly. And, I was just wondering… what happened?"

Slowly, he inched his hand over hers, grasping it gently, smiling as he told her, "You said **if**."

Leaning into him, her shoulder against his, she asked curiously, "And what does that **mean** exactly?"

"You said **if** I had turned out to be a horrible person," he answered, adding after a beat pause, "You don't think I'm a horrible person."

"Of course I don't think that," she returned, her tone suggesting the idea of it as ludicrous.

"You say that as if it were a given," he laughed, adding, "I was really starting to wonder."

"I'm sorry," she apologized, sighing as she explained, "I was just, really confused. And scared."

"Me too," he said softly, removing his hand from hers and slipping it around her waist, pulling her closer, whispering into her hair, "We'll be scared together, ok?"

Nodding against him, she whispered back, "Better to be scared together than alone."

"Definitely," he agreed, asking, "What are your plans tonight?"

"Spending time with you?" she answered in the form of a question, hopeful.

"Just the answer I was hoping for," he admitted, nuzzling up to her cheek as he asked, "Do you think it would traumatize Emma, if I kissed you?"

"Traumatize her, how?" she asked, scowling in confusion.

"Well, you **just** broke up with Pete," he explained, glancing in Emma's direction, spotting her as she waited in line for her turn on the slide. "I'm assuming, she saw you two kissing, and she doesn't know you guys aren't together anymore. I don't want to confuse her, or upset her."

"She doesn't really understand any of that," she told him, smiling to herself. "But, we'll explain it to her, on her level of course, over a couple of squishy pretzels with cinnamon sugar."

"How much are we explaining now?" he asked nervously, "And how much **later**?"

"One step at a time," she said. "We'll tell her about Pete, and that we're a couple now-" She stopped abruptly, almost startling at her own words, then asked, "Did I just assume too much?"

"No," he assured her, "You didn't."

Sighing with relief, she pulled away from his side, a slight timid smile inching onto her face as she asked, "Did you still want to kiss me?"

The nod he gave in response was subtle, but unmistakable. His fingers raking into her hair, he brought her to him, his lips touching hers softly at first, a gentle passion building quickly from there. The world seemed to disappear for a moment, until Emma's excited voice jerked them back into reality.

"Unca Bing! Watch me go fast!"

Chandler turned abruptly towards her, finding that she was at last at the top of the slide, waiting for his attention before using it. Moving quickly, he positioned himself at the bottom, ready to catch her as she slid down, then called to her, "Go for it!"

As she neared him rapidly, he held his arms out to her, gathering her up as she flew into them, spinning her around from the momentum she had gained.

"You ready for that squishy pretzel now?" he asked as they twirled, and she laughed as she nodded emphatically.

"With cimamen sugar," she reminded him, wrapping her little arms around his neck and hugging him.

He sighed as he hugged her back, touched by her genuine and innocent affection, whispering, "Of course. With cinnamon sugar."

**X**

--They found an empty out of the way bench and sat down, Chandler nervously watching Monica for some cue on when and how to begin the important subject. Completely at ease around her own daughter, she gave Chandler a reassuring smile before starting in.

"Sweetie, Mommy wants to talk to you about something."

Emma only glanced up briefly, her focus on the treat she was ripping into pieces. "K."

"You know how Mommy was spending a lot of time with Uncle Pete?" she asked, and Emma bobbed her head twice before leaning in and licking the fallen sugar off the paper the pretzel sat on. "Well, Mommy's not going to be spending time with Uncle Pete anymore. I'm going to be spending time with Uncle Bing now, instead."

Both adults watched the child for some kind of reaction, Emma seeming to be oblivious to what had been said. After a few moments, she nodded. "K. Can I want joosh?"

"Juice," Monica told Chandler, clarifying the gibbered word.

Mouthing the word 'oh', he then asked Emma, "What kind of juice would you like, sweetie?"

"Apple," she answered, then grabbed a piece of pretzel off the paper, thrusting it towards him. "Want some?"

Nodding, he nibbled it out of her fingers, causing her to laugh, then he announced, "I'll be right back with your apple juice, ok?"

"K," she answered simply, then turned to Monica, offering her a piece of pretzel as well, telling her, "I feed you!"

Chandler watched as Monica ate from Emma's hand, then, gaining her attention, threw a look at her that asked the question, "Is this a normal reaction for a four year old?"

Smiling back at him, Monica nodded, to which he exhaled sharply in relief, turning and heading for the man selling the pretzels and drinks.

Taking advantage of Chandler's absence, Monica leaned in towards Emma, attempting to choose her next words carefully. "Sweetie, Uncle Pete can't spend time with you anymore. But he wanted me to tell you, that he loves you."

"Why?" she asked, her face set in a scowl.

"Because, sweetie, **I** can't see him anymore," she explained in a soft sympathetic tone. "Because I'm going to be seeing Uncle Bing instead."

"See botha dem," Emma said, her scowl turning into a pout.

"I can't do that," Monica answered, glancing over to see if Chandler was on his way back yet before adding, "I had to pick one, and I picked Uncle Bing."

"Is Unca Ross and Unca Joey picked out?" Emma asked, her pout now a look of concern.

"No," Monica sighed, holding her daughter's hand in both of hers, "Your Uncle Ross and Uncle Joey aren't going anywhere. We can still see them."

"Why?"

"Because, I see them differently then I saw Uncle Pete. It's called dating," she tried to better explain, telling her, "Some people are **friends**, some people, I **date**. I **was** dating Uncle Pete, **now** I'm dating Uncle Chandler. I'm **not** dating Uncle Ross or Uncle Joey, so we can still see them."

"Why?"

Seeing Chandler on the approach, Monica answered with the hope of ending the conversation. "Because Uncle Ross is my brother, and you don't date your brother, and Uncle Joey is just a friend. Now," she added, somewhat firmly, "Eat your pretzel."

"Here'ya go, Emma Lemma Ding Dong," Chandler announced as he retook his seat, setting the little box in front of her. "Your apple juice, as ordered."

"Thank you," she returned politely, then, surprised Chandler and Monica both by adding, "You date my mommy."

Unsure of how to respond, Chandler asked Monica, "Is she asking me or telling me?"

Shrugging in reply, Monica asked her daughter, "Is it ok if Mommy dates Uncle Bing?"

Completely engrossed in the task of punching the little straw in the hole of the juice box, Emma nodded distractedly, asking either of them, "Help wit dis?"

Monica jumped to her daughter's aid as Chandler asked, "Is it ok if I spend time with you, too?"

"Yeah," she muttered between sips of her drink, seemingly upset, which prompted Chandler to look to Monica helplessly. Discussing things with Emma had caused her to become distant with him, and he was certain, based on her reaction, that they had just ruined his budding relationship with her by doing so.

But then, in the blink of an eye, something changed. Emma sat up on her knees and inched closer to Chandler, snuggling into his side, and instinctively, he wrapped his arm around her in response, planting a soft kiss in her hair.

"Unca Pete's not gonna be my daddy no more," she announced, asking, "You wanna be my daddy, Unca Bing?"

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Sorry about taking so long with this chapter, I had a touch of writer's block. I think this story will be going to 15 chapters, so, two more from here.

Still working out the premise for the next fic. Thanks, Venused, for all your feedback on that!

I have stuff to do in the next two days, so I apologize in advance if this causes a delay in getting the next chapter posted.

When I look at my stats for each chapter, I'm seeing one hundred some odd hits, but only, like, five or so reviews (depending on the chapter). Granted, the chapters where I specifically asked for feedback got more reviews, but in general, on average, each chapter sees about five or six reviews, out of well over one hundred hits.

Now, I know I keep harping on this, but, it's something I feel really strongly about. I would really appreciate it, if you could take a moment and leave a review. Think about your life for a moment… when you do stuff, for school, for a job, for your family or friends, do **you** like it when those efforts go unacknowledged?

Sorry to get preachy, but I'm just hoping to impress upon those who read but don't review, that for an author, reviews are acknowledgement. Please, take a moment and send a few words, and acknowledge my efforts, won't you?

Thanks, and MTLBYAKY


	15. Chapter 14

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Fourteen

**XXX**

--In the blink of an eye, something unknown happened, to change Emma's slight distance towards Chandler. On her knees, she inched across the bench, snuggling into his side, announcing, "Unca Pete's not gonna be my daddy no more. You wanna be my daddy, Unca Bing?"

The question surprised him, his heart picking up pace as he tried to determine how best to respond to her. Finally, feeling he should probably say something, he whispered, "I would love that more than anything." Looking to Monica, his eyes shifted between her and his daughter several times, his expression intense.

She knew what he was thinking, what he was asking, and she nodded slight, whispering, "It's your decision."

"Help me?" He mouthed the words, pleading with her with his eyes, and she smirked back at him before calling her daughter's attention.

"Emma, that's another thing I need to talk to you about."

Emma shifted slightly, but otherwise stayed in position, up against Chandler's side.

Taking a deep breath, Monica continued. "Chandler isn't **just** your Uncle Bing, sweetie, he's also your daddy."

Her expression blank, Emma asked, "Why?"

"Well, you see," Monica struggled for a way to explain, "It takes a mommy and a daddy to make a baby," she said, holding up a finger for each person listed, adding, "Sometimes, the daddy gets lost for a while. Sometimes, we find the daddy again. Chandler got lost for a while, but, we found him again--"

"And I'm never going to get lost again, Emma, ok?" Chandler interrupted, holding her a little tighter, nervously awaiting what she would do or say next.

She seemed to be processing the information, sitting silent for several moments, before finally asking, "Do I get to call you daddy?"

Smiling, relieved, Chandler answered, "Yes. Absolutely."

"K," she said easily, scootching away as she asked, completely off subject, "Do ducks like apple joosh?"

Laughing, Chandler said, "I have no idea."

"And we're not going to find out by giving them **your** apple juice," Monica added as she pointed at the near empty juice box, telling her, "**You** drink it."

Emma pouted, snatching up the box and sipping it till the straw made a sputtering sound, indicating it was empty. Then she dropped it back on the picnic table, immediately holding up a piece of her pretzel, asking, "Do they like pretzels?"

"No," Monica answered at once, telling her, "If you want to feed the ducks, we'll go buy duck food from the vender, ok?"

"K!" Emma exclaimed, hopping off the bench and grabbing Chandler's hand, giving it a tug as she chirped, "S'go, Daddy! The ducks are this way!" she added, pulling on him, and he pushed off the bench, allowing her to lead him as he glanced back at Monica, smiling.

Collecting the trash first, Monica moved quickly to catch up, tossing the garbage in the bin along the path before stepping up beside Emma, taking her other hand.

"One, two, three, Mommy!" Emma cried excitedly, pulling on Chandler and Monica as she lifted her legs, dangling for a second before extending them again to walk.

Smiling over at Chandler, Monica explained, "Basically, we count to three, then swing her up into the air."

"I think I can handle that," he laughed, then tightened his grip as he started counting.

They played that game all the way to the duck pond, spending the next half hour feeding the ducks and bonding, before calling it a day and heading for home.

**X**

--Tired from the outing, Emma went down for her nap easily, falling asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. Tucking her in, Chandler kissed her head, smiling sheepishly when he caught Monica watching from the doorway.

"Busy day," he whispered, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he moved towards her, and she nodded in agreement, gesturing for him to follow her out into the livingroom.

"She had fun today," Monica said as she closed Emma's bedroom door softly, adding, "I did, too."

"So did I," he admitted, slipping his hands around Monica's waist, pulling her gently to him. "Maybe, the fun could continue," he suggested, arching an eyebrow as he cracked a grin, adding, "You know, while she's napping."

Nodding, she clasped her hands around the back of his neck, reaching for his lips with hers as she melted against him.

"You're trembling," he whispered, grazing kisses in a path to her neck.

"I'm nervous," she whispered back, her eyes closing, breathing unevenly.

Smiling, his breath tickling her skin, he asked, "Why?"

"I don't know," she told him. "I was **less** nervous **last** time."

"Last time was five years ago," he reminded her, resting his chin on her shoulder as he held her in his arms. "I'm assuming you have… Since…"

"Yes," she whispered, "But, not with you."

"I want you, Monica," he admitted with all honesty, "But, I'm willing to wait, if you need more time--"

"I don't need more time," she interrupted him, adding, "And I want you, too."

Pulling back, he looked deep into her eyes, raking his fingers through her hair as he said, "Then, maybe we should go to your room. Get comfortable."

"I think we should," she returned with a nod, her voice cracking slightly. "Lock and chain the door for me?" she asked of him, then took a sideways step towards her room, adding, "I'll see you in there."

He smirked at her nervous words, nodding, then watched her walk away before moving to the front door to accomplish the simple task requested.

Slowly, he entered her room, his breath catching when he saw that she was standing in the center of it, in nothing more than undergarments.

"Wow," he exhaled, his eyes dragging across her form, and she smiled anxiously in response to his appreciative scrutiny.

"Your turn," she breathed, to which he instantly began yanking his shirt up over his head.

Their eye contact was lost for a moment, but it was reinitiated as soon as his shirt was over and off. His gaze remained locked with hers as he worked his belt buckle, the snap and zipper quick to follow, then he pushed at his pants, allowing gravity to drag them to the floor.

Dramatically, almost comically, he attempted to kick off his shoes and rid himself of the slacks pooled around his ankles, nearly falling to the floor in the struggle. Finally free of everything but his boxers, he smiled back at her, the happier expression dropping in seconds as he rushed impatiently towards her, gathering her into his arms, kissing her passionately.

"I meant what I said before," he whispered against her lips, kissing her again before continuing. "You ruined me for all other women. I've never felt a connection," he added, kisses traveling to her shoulder, "Like the one I felt with you. **Feel** with you. And that's not a line," he assured her, slipping the strap from her bra out of his way, nibbling on the skin beneath it. "That's the God's honest truth."

"I believe you," she said as she clutched at him desperately, telling him, "Mostly because I feel it, too."

"What is this link between us?" he asked, breathless as he continued his fevered affections. "I mean, are we crazy here?"

"If we are," she answered, her voice hoarse, "I don't want to be sane."

Laughing shortly, he shifted positions, smiling back at her as he asked softly, "May I touch you?"

Taking in a shaky breath, she nodded, her eyes glazing over in anticipation. Slowly, building the tension, he slid his hand up her bare skin, starting at her navel, inching higher. His fingers brushed the edge of her bra teasingly before finally cupping her breast through the silk material; her eyes drifted closed as warmth and arousal instantly shot through her.

Completely amazed by her reaction to his touch, he leaned in, kissing her as he fondled her, brushing his thumb across taut flesh.

"I don't know about you," he whispered as he pressed his cheek against hers, "But it feels like my knees are about to give out." When she nodded, he suggested, "Maybe we should lie down."

Nodding again, she opened her eyes when she felt him move away from her, only to be met with the most incredible expression she had ever seen before. The slightest of smiles, his eyes intense with desire; he looked at her like she was the only woman on the planet he could and would ever love.

Taking her hand and leading her to the bed, he pulled the covers down in one quick motion, waiting for her to climb in before joining her.

On their sides, they faced each other, Chandler's hand slipping up to rest on her hip, his fingers dipping just inside the waistband of her underwear.

"I'd almost forgotten how beautiful you are," he said in a low seductive tone of voice, smiling when she blushed. "Still nervous?" he asked, his thumb caressing the soft skin beneath the silk and lace.

"A little," she admitted, asking, "You?"

Shaking his head, he told her, "Nothing has **ever** felt **so** right."

"Would it scare you," she asked cautiously, hesitantly, "If I were to tell you, that, I think I'm in love with you?"

"No," he answered, asking, "Would it scare **you**, if I were to tell you that I **know** I'm in love with you?"

She shook her head in answer, asking, "Are we speaking hypothetically?"

"We **were**," he answered, quickly suggesting, "Maybe we shouldn't do that. Maybe we shouldn't be afraid to say what's really on our minds."

She nodded in response, taking the first step, admitting, "I'm in love with you, Chandler."

Smiling, he told her, "I'm in love with you, too, Monica. And I know," he added, "Some people will say it's **so** fast, but, it's **not**. Not really. I mean, we have a history, for starters. And it's not like there are rules to follow, for when you can start falling for someone. And, what about those who believe in love at first sight?"

Laughing, she asked, "Are you trying to convince **me** or **you**?"

Scoffing lightly in response, he smiled back at her, realizing, "I don't think either of us need much convincing."

Shaking her head, she whispered, "I know **I** don't. And we shouldn't worry about what **others** think anyway."

"I'm not so much," he agreed, adding carefully, "It's just, I kinda figured that, your friends are probably going to have some strong opinions on the matter."

"They probably will," she admitted, sliding her hand into his hair, inching closer to him. "But, my friends' opinions don't rule my actions. I value them," she added, her lips hovering over his, "But they don't rule me."

Nodding, he completed the distance between them, the kiss that followed evolving quickly from tentative to intense.

"And besides," she interjected as she pulled away, "I think they're rooting for us."

Agreeing with a nod, he asked, "How long until Emma wakes up from her nap?"

Looking past him, to the clock that sat on the bedside table, she answered, "A little over an hour."

"Hmm," he hummed, smirking, "I was hoping not to have to rush."

Her slight smile, accompanied by the reddening of her cheeks, told him she caught the point he was trying to make. "We'll have more time tonight," she informed him, adding, "Once eight-thirty/nine rolls around, she's pretty much out till morning."

"This'll just be a preview then, of things to come," he promised, shifting his position, moving closer to her, their bodies pressed together as he nuzzled up to the soft spot just behind her ear.

Sighing, her entire being responding to his touch, she whispered, "I like having something to look forward to."

**X**

--Chandler putzied around the kitchen, a smile that could not be contained spread wide across his face. The sound of the shower running, Monica humming happily as she used it, filled his heart to bursting. Never in his life, could he ever remember being so happy. The last five years of his life had been spent avoiding commitment, no woman measuring up to his memory of Monica. And while, more often than not, the reality isn't as good as the memory, for Chandler, the reality was better.

His fear of relationships, he realized, wasn't because he didn't want to be in one, but because the ones he attempted to be in were with the wrong women. With Monica, there was no anxiety or dread. Only excitement. Of where they were. Of where they were going. Their present. Their future. A life with his daughter.

The sudden knock at the door interrupted his introspect, the sound actually startling him. Almost as if he had no right to answer it, he moved hesitantly towards the door, peeking through the peephole, a small sigh escaping as he realized who was there.

"Hey, Joe," Chandler greeted him as he pulled the door open, immediately gesturing for him to enter. "What's up?"

"I was hoping to raid Monica's fridge," Joey answered, glancing around the apartment, asking, "Is she here?"

"In the shower," Chandler told him, hooking a thumb towards the bathroom. "She should be out in a few."

"In the middle of the day--? Oh." Joey interrupted his own question, comprehension taking the place of confusion within his expression. "So, then, you two--"

"I was just about to get Emma's snack together," Chandler cut him off, adding, "For when she wakes up from her nap. Grapes and carrot sticks. Want some?"

"No, thanks," Joey returned with a frown, "I'm not a rabbit."

"Not big on health food, eh?" Chandler laughed, stepping over to the fridge, asking as he rummaged, "You want me to go shopping later? You could write me a list--"

"Can I ask you something?" Joey asked suddenly, running over top of Chandler's offer, his tone bordering on serious.

Locating the items he was searching for, Chandler stood and moved towards the kitchen sink, glancing over at Joey before muttering, "I guess." He knew what was coming, before the question was even asked.

"What does 'she said **if**' mean?" Joey asked, taking a seat at the dining table, looking just as uncomfortable as Chandler felt.

"It **means**, she said **if**," Chandler answered, occupying himself with the task of rinsing the fruits and vegetables, his back turned as he asked, "Did the others put you up to this, or do you genuinely want to know?"

"Both," Joey admitted with a shrug, adding, "They figured, since we're roommates, **I** should be the one to ask."

Nodding, Chandler asked, "You guys really look out for each other, don't you?"

"Yeah," Joey answered, adding proudly, "We're like a family."

"Yeah, well, my family consisted of narcissistic parents who cared more about **themselves** individually, than anything going on in **my** life," Chandler announced bitterly, turning the water off and facing his new friend, adding, almost solemnly, "I envy what you guys have, even if I don't completely understand it."

"What's to understand? And who's to say you don't have it, too?" Joey asked, his lopsided grin showing him to be nothing, if not sincere.

"Meaning what?" Chandler asked with a scowl, wiping his wet hands on his pants before leaning against the counter.

Smirking, Joey made him a deal. "I'll answer yours if you'll answer mine."

Chandler smirked back, deciding in that moment that Joey wasn't quite as dense as he first thought him to be. "Ok," he agreed, pulling out a chair and joining him before telling him, "Monica told me that **if** I had turned out to be a horrible person, she would have kept me being Emma's father from me."

"But she **doesn't** think you're a horrible person, so, she told you," Joey added, piecing it together, to which Chandler nodded in response.

"Something like that," he muttered, adding, "Your turn."

"Well, you're new," Joey told him, "So, it's gonna take time. For you to get to know us, and us to get to know you, but, you're one of us now!"

"Why does it feel like I just joined a cult?" Chandler quipped, shaking his head in amusement as he pushed off the chair, gesturing towards Emma's room as he added, "It's time for Emma to be up from her nap. I'll be right back."

Unsure if he should be insulted by Chandler's comment, Joey scowled at his retreating form, jumping from his seat when he heard the bathroom door open, Monica appearing in a cloud of steam.

Surprised to see him there, Monica tightened the towel she wore around herself, asking, "What are you doing here, Joey?"

"I was hoping to raid your fridge," he answered, smiling sheepishly, adding, "Chandler let me in."

Nodding, she asked, "Where is he?"

"Getting Emma up from her nap," he informed her, calling her name as she started to walk away. "Hey, Mon, can I ask you a question?"

"Yes," she sighed, "You can have some of the lasagna in the fridge."

"No," he said quickly, hoping to stop her from disappearing into her room. "I mean, thanks, but that wasn't the question I was going to ask."

"Sorry," she apologized, asking, "What's the question?"

"Does Chandler not like us or something?" he asked, startling when the answer given, didn't come from Monica.

"Maybe you should ask him that directly."

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out, my health is poor, and the last few days have been hectic.

I really appreciate all the reviews for the last chapter! I thought I might've come across a little bitchy in the last author's note… I'm glad it didn't upset.

If I can't fit all I'm planning into the next chapter, there will be two more chapters from here, instead of one.

Since my health is poor, the new fic I have been developing might take a while to get going. Sorry about that.

Oliver: Emma MIGHT seem 'babyish', but she was created with my niece in mind, and she (my niece) talks and acts like this. She is VERY intelligent, but some of her words are gibbered.

Ok, I need reviews now more than ever, and I won't go into why here, but just, trust me on this.

Thanks for reading and reviewing, and MTLBYAKY


	16. Chapter 15

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Fifteen

**XXX**

--An awkward air hung over them, tensions rising as Chandler stared back at Joey, a sternness to his near glare. In response, and in part due to the fact that his new roommate overheard something he'd never meant for him to hear, Joey dropped his gaze to the floor, kicking at the ground, obviously uncomfortable.

"I think I'll let you guys work this out," Monica announced quietly, excusing herself in a roundabout way, "While I go get dressed."

As soon as Monica closed herself in her room, Chandler sighed, asking, "What's this all about, Joe?"

Shrugging, Joey muttered, "We're not a cult, we're just, close."

"Joe," Chandler laughed, "It was a joke! I know you guys aren't a **cult**! That's what I do," he explained himself. "I make jokes."

"So, you don't hate us?" Joey asked, "Cause we keep buttin' into your business?"

"Well, I'll tell'ya," Chandler answered with a smirk, "I could do **without** the butting in stuff. But, no, I don't hate you guys. Ok?"

A lopsided grin spread across Joey's face as he stepped up to him, pulling him almost unwillingly into a hug. "We don't hate you, either," he said, adding as he released him, "I mean, sure, we don't know you all that well, but, what we **do** know, we like!"

"Glad to hear it," Chandler returned with a hint of sarcasm to his tone, a seriousness taking its place near instantly as he added, "What you guys think of me is important to Monica, so, I would like it if we all could become friends."

"It's not us guys you need to be worrying about," Joey told him, glancing towards Monica's bedroom as he did.

"Meaning what?" Chandler asked, his brow furrowed.

Leaning in, Joey informed him, "Monica's parents **hate** the guy that got her pregnant, cause he took off, leaving her to deal alone. Since that guy has turned out to be **you**, you're gonna have your hands full, getting them to like you."

"But, I didn't **know** she was pregnant when I left," Chandler countered, almost whispering so that Monica or Emma wouldn't overhear him.

"Neither did the Steven guy she made up," Joey said, glancing once again at Monica's closed bedroom door, adding, "But they hated him for using her! Sleeping with her, then never calling her again!"

"I didn't **use** her," Chandler shot back defensively. "I had dire family problems to tend to."

"**We** know that, but **they** don't! Explain it to them," Joey suggested. "Like you explained it to us, and maybe they'll understand, too."

"Maybe?" he challenged him. "You mean, there's a chance they'll **always** hate me?"

"Can I want poptarts for a snack?" Emma asked as she stumbled out of her room, rubbing her eyes, her hair wild and sticking up in tufts.

"We'll finish this conversation later," Chandler whispered to Joey, then turned his attention to his sleepy daughter. "Your mom says snack for today is grapes and carrot sticks."

Emma pulled a face of disgust, asking, "Can I dip 'em in peanut butter?"

"Um, I don't know," Chandler answered, looking to Joey questioningly before asking Emma, "Does your mommy usually let you do that?"

"Does Mommy usually let her do what?" Monica asked as she emerged from her room, dressed in a casual cotton dress that immediately brought a smile to Chandler's face.

"She wants to dip her carrot sticks in peanut butter," he told her, slipping his hand around her waist and kissing her temple as soon as she was within arm's reach.

"That's fine," Monica said, asking Joey, "Could you get the peanut butter down for me?"

"Sure," Joey agreed easily, asking as he did, "Is it still ok that I have some of that lasagna?"

When the answer didn't immediately follow his question, after retrieving the jar off the shelf, Joey spun around to ask again, his tongue tripping to a stop before two words even left his mouth, as he caught sight of why she hadn't said anything.

Sensing his eyes on them, Chandler and Monica broke away from their kiss, Monica smiling sheepishly back at Joey.

"Sorry," she apologized, asking, "What did you say?"

"I asked if I could still have some of that lasagna," he answered, adding with a grin, "How cute are you two?"

"Yes, and very," she said as she leaned into Chandler, snuggling against him, feeling loved and protected within his embrace.

The banging sound being made brought everyone's attention to Emma, who was up on her knees, on a dining chair, slamming the peanut butter jar, lid down, onto the surface of the table.

"Emma," Monica scolded her, "What are you doing?"

"It don't open!" Emma shot back, lifting the jar in preparation of slamming it down once again; Monica snagged it from her before it could make contact.

"Then you ask for help!" Monica told her sternly, patting the top of her daughter's head before handing the jar over to Joey, asking him, "Get that for me, while I get her snack?"

"Daddy?" Emma called to Chandler, "Joosh box, please!"

Joey startled at the simple request, still on task of opening the peanut butter, asking Monica sotto, "She knows?"

Nodding, Monica told him, "We told her at the park this morning. Juice boxes are in the fridge, second shelf," she added towards Chandler, who immediately stepped into action.

"How'd she take it?" he asked curiously, whispering, removing the lid and handing the jar over to her.

"Really well," Monica answered, scooping some peanut butter out into a small bowl, adding, "She's been calling him daddy ever since."

"I think it's great!" Joey announced, heading for the fridge when Chandler moved away from it with Emma's juice in hand.

"What's great?" Chandler asked as he pulled the little straw off the back of the box, poking it through the little hole before handing it over to Emma.

"You guys are like, a real family now!" Joey exclaimed, placing the entire baking dish of leftover lasagna into the microwave, punching buttons and hitting start as he added, "You guys should get married!"

"Joey, sweetie," Monica intervened off Chandler's look of surprise, placing the plate of grapes and carrots, along with the bowl of peanut butter in front of Emma before turning to face him, "You're putting Chandler in an awkward position. And, besides, marriage isn't something you jump into impulsively. We're gonna date for a while, then, we'll see. Ok?"

"Yeah, ok. I get it," Joey pouted over the slight reprimand, his expression lighting up as soon as the microwave beeped, indicating his food was ready. "I'm gonna eat this across the hall," he said as he carefully removed the hot dish with both hands, butt-bumping the door to close it. "Ya'know, give you guys some privacy."

"Thanks," Chandler returned with an upnod, adding, "You write out that list, and we'll go shopping later, if you want."

"Sure," Joey answered, standing by the door, staring back at Chandler for a moment before asking, "Little help?"

"Oh! Sorry," Chandler laughed, moving quickly to open the door. Once opened, he stepped into the hall and opened the door to apartment nineteen as well, whispering as Joey passed him to enter, "We'll finish that conversation we were having earlier, later while shopping."

"What conversation?" Joey asked, confused, a blank look on his face.

"About Monica's parents?" Chandler reminded him, smiling when he could literally see comprehension wash over his expression.

"Right," Joey grinned back, adding, "I don't know them all that well, but I'll be happy to tell you what I **do** know."

"Thanks, man," Chandler said, then hooking his thumb back towards apartment twenty, added, "I'm gonna spend some time with Monica and Emma now."

"Yeah," Joey muttered distractedly, setting the hot dish down on the counter before moving to locate a fork. "See'ya."

He may not be as dense as I first assumed, Chandler thought to himself, chuckling inwardly as he crossed the hall, but he has the attention span of a gnat.

"You get everything worked out with him?" Monica asked as he stepped inside, and he nodded in response, closing the door before answering her.

"I made a joke, and he thought I was being serious," he said, smiling as he wrapped his arms around her.

"What did you say?" she questioned him curiously, accepting and reciprocating his casual affection.

"**He **said, it would take a while for us all to get to know each other," he answered, "But that essentially, I was one of you guys now. Then **I** said, it's like I joined a cult. Apparently," he added, "He didn't realize it was an attempt at humor."

"Yeah, well," she laughed, "Joey doesn't always **get** subtle humor. And he's right," she added, gesturing for him to take a seat at the dining table before moving towards the fridge, "You **are** one of us now. Hungry?"

"After all our fun today," he answered, smiling, "You **bet**!"

She threw him a half grin, half glare, then began to rummage, asking, "Turkey sandwich ok? I'd offer you lasagna, but…"

Laughing when she trailed off, her implication clear, he asked, "Joey raid your fridge often?"

"Daily," she said, juggling all the ingredients needed, heading for the counter as she added, "It's almost a full time job, keeping the apartment stocked."

"I'll try to offset some of the responsibility," he told her, "Now that I'm living with him."

"You're going shopping with him later?" she asked, grabbing a plate off the shelf and a knife from the drawer.

"Yeah," he muttered, then asked, "You need me to pick you up anything? While I'm down there?"

Touched over his simple offer, she stopped what she was doing and smiled back at him, whispering, "Thanks. I'll make a list."

"Poptarts," Emma interjected, swirling her carrot sticks in her peanut butter, making abstract patterns, her attention clearly divided.

"You sure she's not **Joey's** kid?" he laughed, but stopped abruptly when he received a semi-serious glare in response. "Sorry," he apologized, stating as if speaking for her, "Inappropriate jokes will **not** be well received."

Nodding in approval, she turned back to her task, asking, "What kind of cheese do you want?"

"You have more than **one** kind of cheese?" he scoffed jokingly, adding, "I usually just buy the kind that comes in the little individual wrappers."

"American," she informed him. "There's like, a million other kinds on the planet."

"You're a chef," he said, requesting of her, "Pick for me? I trust your judgment."

"Done, Mommy," Emma announced, asking as she hopped off her chair, "Can I watch cartoons?"

"Wash your hands and face first," Monica instructed, "And yes, if you keep the sound down low."

"K!"

"And if you bring me the hairbrush," Chandler added, before Emma disappeared into the bathroom, "I'll brush your hair for you."

"K, Daddy!"

"Really?" Monica asked, turning away from sandwich making long enough to stare back at him quizzically.

"Yeah," he said, smiling at her reaction. "I did that for her on Saturday, after her nap, and she said she liked it when **I** brushed her hair, cause I didn't pull out any nits."

"And you said you didn't know how to be a father," she laughed shortly, adding as she continued with making lunch, "You're a natural."

"Really?" he asked, somewhat gushing over the compliment, to which she nodded. "Thanks," he whispered, standing and stepping up behind her, his hands on her waist, his chin on her shoulder. "Wow," he said with a sigh, "That's the prettiest sandwich I have **ever** seen."

"Well," she quipped, "I **am** a chef! This would be the equivalent of an accountant adding two plus two."

"You sell yourself short," he told her. "This is the equivalent of an accountant multiplying three million six hundred and twenty thousand by two million four hundred and ten, then dividing the whole thing by pi."

"I'm assuming you meant that as a compliment," she laughed, leaning back into him, resting her head against his shoulder.

"I did," he assured her, pressing his cheek to hers as he whispered, "Did I tell you how amazing you look in this dress?"

The way his fingers played with the material of her dress made her shudder. "This old thing?" she chuckled nervously, trying to hide the rush of desire his simple touch had caused.

Smiling, he turned her to face him, a knowing glint in his eyes as he slowly leaned in for a kiss. In response, she wrapped her arms around his neck, moving to meet his lips, her breath catching in anticipation.

It was a soft, affectionate kiss, but reserved, knowing Emma was up and toddling around, knowing she could interrupt at any minute.

"I can't wait till tonight," he said, his voice a low groan. "Wear this to bed," he requested of her, teasing the edge of the material along her neckline. "I want to undo each of these buttons, oh so slowly."

Suddenly, without warning or indication, Chandler jumped, near slamming Monica into the counter behind her.

"Hairbrush, Daddy!" Emma exclaimed, goosing him with it, which is what had caused him to startle.

Apologizing to Monica with just a look and a slight grin, he turned to face his daughter. "Thanks, sweetie. Let's go to the couch, ok?" he said, taking the brush from her outstretched hand. "So Mommy can finish up with the sandwiches."

Leading the way into the livingroom, Emma grabbed the remote off the coffee table and clicked on the TV, finding the right channel before asking, "Wanna watch cartoons wit me?"

"If Mommy will let me eat out here, then sure," he answered, taking a seat beside her on the couch after she threw herself onto it.

"That's fine," Monica called out, waiting for nearly a minute, till she was certain they were preoccupied, before glancing over her shoulder, stealing a peek at the father/daughter moment they were sharing.

His hand atop the crown of her head, he brushed carefully through her hair, slowly working out any snags he would come across with quick brief strokes instead of trying to drag the brush through them; Emma never once winced or fidgeted.

"How'd you learn to do that?" Monica asked, placing his sandwich on the coffee table before joining them on the couch.

Shrugging, he said, "From a movie. Can't remember the name of it, though. Some chick flick Janice forced me to go see."

Even though she knew it was silly to feel threatened, Monica felt a pang of jealousy hit her, upon hearing him mention another woman's name. "Who's Janice?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"Old girlfriend," he answered distractedly, placing the hairbrush on the coffee table as he told Emma, "All done."

"Thanks, Daddy," she chirped, then jumped up off the couch to move to the floor, closer to the TV.

Sitting in silence, Monica stewed, watching Chandler eat, her gaze occasionally catching the cartoons on the TV. Part of her wanted to know about his past girlfriends, part of her, was afraid to ask.

"This sandwich is fantastic," he mumbled as he chewed, oblivious to her inner struggle, asking, "What kind of cheese is this?"

"Smoked Gouda," she answered, immediately asking, "How long did you date Janice?"

For a moment, he sat frozen, then finished chewing and swallowing before turning to answer her. "A few months. Why?"

"Just curious," she returned with a shrug. "Any other girlfriends?" she asked awkwardly. "Besides Janice?"

Abandoning his lunch for the time being, he sat back against the couch cushions, turning slightly to the side to face her better, asking, "Are you jealous or something?"

"No!" she insisted, forcing a laugh. "I'm- I'm just curious, like I said."

"You have no reason to be," he told her, taking her hand in his, leaning in closer as he explained, "She was annoying beyond all reason. I only dated her **that** long cause I couldn't figure out how to break up with her. She had a way of twisting your words around… I don't know," he continued after trailing off, "It was weird. I ended up moving, just to get away from her."

"And, was she the only girlfriend, you've dated?" she asked hesitantly, to which Chandler cracked a smile. "Why are you smiling?"

"You **are** jealous," he said, his grin growing slightly before he dropped it from his face. "Monica, don't do this. The past is the past. How many girlfriends **I've** had and how many boyfriends **you've** had, doesn't change **us**, ok?"

"Ok. You're right. I'm sorry," she pouted, looking so much like Emma at that moment that it caused Chandler to laugh out loud.

"Ok," he said, kissing her lips to ease the expression off her face, "If you **really** want to know, I'll tell you. **Do you** really want to know?" he asked, to which she eventually and slowly nodded. "Alright," he said, glancing towards Emma to be sure she was still engrossed in her cartoons before continuing. "There was Aurora, until I found out she was **married**, **and** had two other boyfriends besides **me**. Then, there was Janice. Then, there was Kathy. She ended up cheating on me. And that's pretty much it. Besides a few dates here and there. Feel better?" he asked, shaking his head in amusement when she shrugged in answer. "See? I told you knowing wouldn't change anything! Trust me," he added seriously, brushing her hair back from her face, his hand lingering on her cheek, "They were just, like, practice relationships, till I found you again, ok?"

Nodding, she asked, "What do you suppose would've happened, if your dad hadn't been sick, and called you away? Do you ever think about that?"

"Yes," he admitted, sighing. "I've played the 'what if' game a thousand times, over the last five years."

"Do you think we would have stayed together, maybe even be married now, if you had stayed in New York?"

**To be continued**

Author's notes:

Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. I'm having major health issues right now, and the meds I'm taking for them affect me negatively. Sorry if this chapter is subpar because of it. If you feel that this chapter blows, let me know and I'll try to rewrite it.

One more chapter, then an epilogue chapter, and this fic will be done. Not sure when I'll be able to start the new fic, though. I will probably wait till I'm feeling better, since I don't think my writing is as good when I'm in poor health.

Oliver: Thanks for the heads up on the spelling mistake (taught taut). Went back and looked at a few of my other fics, and I did the same thing in those as well. Brain fart moment. I get them a lot.

Have seasons four and five Mondler tributes up on YouTube, username: janaonwheels. Almost ready to make season six, but need two songs, one from a male singer, one from a female singer. Anyone have song ideas that could work? I would **love** to hear from you!

Ok, please review, so that I will be motivated to keep writing through my pain.

MTLBYAKY


	17. Chapter 16

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Sixteen

**XXX**

--Chandler considered his answer carefully before responding. "I know I would have stayed by your side, through all of it. Through the pregnancy, her birth, taking care of her and raising her. But, I honestly don't know if we would have remained a couple. We were **so** young," he explained himself, "And, statistically speaking, people who get into relationships in their teen years, don't last through their twenties. But, I'll tell'ya," he added, offering her a reassuring smile, "I think, if anyone **could** be the exception to the rule, and beaten the odds, it would have been **us**."

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "I shouldn't have asked you such an uncomfortable question. Excellent answer, though," she added, grinning slightly, causing him to smile back at her in response.

"Thanks," he said, kissing her briefly before telling her in all seriousness, "I meant it."

"I believe you," she said, pointing to his abandoned sandwich, adding impishly, "Eat. You're gonna need your strength for tonight."

"Yes, Ma'am," he joked, returning to his food, asking a few moments later, "Here's a question. Do you have any home movies of Emma? You know, like, her first steps, or first words, or whatever?"

"Actually, I do," she answered, adding excitedly, "I even have her birth, if you want to see it!"

"Really?" he asked, somewhat surprised, whispering in answer, "I would love to see it."

Catching the emotion in his voice, she smiled back at him, lightly brushing her thumb across his cheek before moving to the video cabinet beneath the TV. Kneeling, she found the tape easily within the depths of the cupboard, then turned to her daughter, requesting of her, "Why don't you go play in your room for a little while, ok? Mommy wants to show Daddy a video that you can't watch."

"She can't?" he asked curiously, to which Monica shook her head.

"Too graphic," she explained, waiting for Emma to leave the room before going into further detail. "It's pretty much a crotch shot video," she told him, asking uneasily, "Is that gonna be something hard for you to see? Some guys, after seeing **that**, can't bring themselves to have sex with the mother of their children anymore. It's like, they feel guilty for being the ones to bring her that kind of pain or something."

"I'll be fine," he assured her, asking, "Who videotaped it?"

"Ross started to," she said as she cued up the tape, "But he got lightheaded and queasy, so Rachel took over."

"So Ross and Rachel were in the delivery room with you?" he asked, draping his arm around her as she joined him on the couch once again.

"Yeah," she answered, hitting play on the remote, adding as the image of a younger Monica, lying in a hospital bed jumped onto the screen, "If it starts to affect you negatively, don't be afraid to tell me, ok? I'll just forward it to **after** the birth."

He nodded wordlessly, watching the scene on TV as if it were happening in real life.

_--"Ok, Monica," Ross asked his sister as he manned the camera, "Tell us how far along you are, and what the doctor just said."_

_"I'm a little busy right now, __**Ross**__!" a very in pain and irritated Monica snipped, trying to breathe through her contraction._

_"She's eight centimeters __dilated __and ninety percent effaced," Rachel answered for her, dotting Monica's forehead with a cool damp cloth._

_"Which means it's __gonna__ be baby time really soon!" Ross exclaimed excitedly, to which Monica glared back at him._

_"Ross," Rachel said to him, firmly but nicely, "Why don't you go get some more ice chips, ok? She could really use some more ice chips."_

_"And a lot less of you playing Steven Spielberg," Monica snapped, her contraction finally subsiding._

--Chandler laughed, smiling over at Monica, planting a kiss in her hair before returning his attention to the video. Ross had obviously stopped recording at that point, only to pick it up later, as Monica was readying to deliver.

_--"You can video tape," the doctor told Ross, "But you need to stay back and out of the way."_

_"No problem," Ross agreed, the camera jiggling slightly as he stepped back several paces._

_"Ok, Monica," the doctor instructed, "On your next contraction, I want you to hold your breath, bear down, and count to ten. __On your next contraction.__ Ok?"_

_Monica nodded, her face contorted in pain__, breathing in a panicked pattern._

_"You can do this, Mon," Rachel told her, encouraging her. "Do your Lamaze breathing."_

_"I can't," Monica cried, "It hurts! Lamaze sucks! I want the drugs!"_

_"It's too late for that now," the doctor told her, speaking firmly but kindly, "And you __**can**__ do this. Just a few good pushes and this'll all be over."_

_Resigned, Monica lifted her head, screamed out in pain, then held her breath and pushed with every ounce of strength she had._

_"Perfect," the doctor praised her as Rachel counted to ten. "Take a breath and go again!"_

_"Oh my God," Ross whispered, but still loud enough for everyone, including the camera's microphone, to hear. "Is that the baby's head?"_

_"Yes," the doctor answered, telling his patient, "One more time, Monica! Bear down! That's it!"_

_"__Rache__?"__ Ross squeaked out, the camera shaking slightly, "I'm not feeling too good. Can you come-? Can you do this?"_

_Exasperated, Rachel marched towards him, snatching the camera away from him, the image blurry and all over the place as she could be heard saying, "Go sit down! Before you fall down! Go help Monica," she added, finally getting the camera under control and pointed back at the crowning baby._

_Ross appeared by Monica's side a moment later, looking unsteady on his feet as he took her hand. "Sorry, Mon," he apologized, wincing as his sister dug her n__ails into the flesh of his palm_

_"The head is out," the doctor informed, adding, "Don't push for a moment, here, ok? Breathe through it."_

_"Yeah, right," Monica shot back sarcastically, panting and gasping as she tried to fight nature._

_"He's just suctioning out the mouth and nose, Mon," Rachel chimed in from off camera, adding emotionally, "She has your hair."_

_"You have a name picked out yet?" the doctor asked, "Because one more good push and she'll be here. Whenever you're ready," he added, setting the suctioning device aside and assuming the position to deliver._

_"Emma," Monica answered, grabbing a quick breath and bearing down with a loud grunt of pain._

_Within a few seconds, Rachel could be heard gasping. "Oh my God, Monica, she's here!__" she announced, the camera shaking slightly as she started to cry._

--"Oh my God," Chandler whispered, inching to the edge of the couch, his elbows on his knees as he stared back at the screen. "She was beautiful from the word go, wasn't she?"

Laughing, Monica whispered back as she scootched up beside him, "I obviously think so."

The sound of a newborn Emma crying from the TV caused Chandler to laugh, a tear trickling down his cheek he quickly swiped away. "Wow, strong lungs!"

Sensing he didn't want attention brought to the fact that he was on the verge of crying, Monica said nothing, but put her arm around him in a comforting manner.

_--"Would the honorary Aunt or the Uncle like to cut the cord?" the doctor asked, and as Ross nodded, the scene__ went black, __being picked up again with Monica sitting in a different bed, in a different room, her newborn baby in her arms, nursing._

_"So, she was seven pounds two ounces, and nineteen inches long?" Ross was heard asking off screen._

_"Yes," Monica answered, smiling down at her daughter as she breastfed._

_"That doesn't sound right," Ross muttered. "That sounds full term, not premature."_

_"Maybe she chunked up cause of all the double fudge brownies and ice cream sandwiches I ate," Monica offered, sounding annoyed, but her smile for her baby remained._

_"At least she's healthy," a proud Grandma Geller chimed in, appearing on screen as she sat next to Monica on the bed. "And I really like the name Emma."_

_"What would you have named her, if she had been a boy?" Grandpa Geller asked off screen._

_"Daniel," Monica answered, smiling in her father's direction._

_"How many weeks are you __**supposed**__ to be right now?" Ross asked, receiving a glare from Monica in response._

_"Let it go, Ross," Rachel could be heard saying, presumably standing near him as she was off screen as well. "Emma is healthy, Monica is too. Just, drop it."_

_"Fine," Ross muttered, the scene cutting abruptly into static._

--"There's a lot of footage after that," Monica said to Chandler as she stood and approached the TV, "But it's on another tape. We don't have to watch all four years of her life right now," she added, ejecting the tape and kneeling to put it away. "We can watch it a little at a time."

"He was already piecing it together **then**, wasn't he?" Chandler asked, adding, "Ross, I mean."

"I guess so," Monica answered, shrugging as she stood.

"Your parents never challenged you on it?" he asked cautiously, his eyes following her every step as she moved towards the couch to rejoin him.

"Well, they **did**," she answered, "But, they sorta just, dropped it. About the same time Ross did," she added, in thought, "Come to think of it."

"Any chance they know?" he asked, a cross between worried and relieved at the possible scenario.

"I wouldn't think so, but, I also didn't think Ross knew," she muttered, her mind obviously elsewhere as she snuggled into his side.

"I'm **so** sorry I wasn't there for you," he whispered into her hair, resting his cheek atop her head.

"I know," she whispered back, asking with a steadier tone of voice, "Watching that didn't change your opinion of me, did it?"

"It didn't turn me off, from wanting to **be** with you, if that's what you're asking," he answered, tightening his arm around her.

"It was," she admitted, glancing at her daughter's closed bedroom door before inching her hand up his thigh.

Stopping her hand from ascending further, he scolded her jokingly, saying, "And you **know** we can't do anything right now, so, don't be cruel."

"Sorry," she laughed, asking as she nuzzled against his neck, "How is **this** different than what **you** were doing earlier?"

"It's not, I guess," he answered, his eyes closing slowly, breathing in and out deliberately in an attempt to keep his head, adding, "Except that, you can hide your arousal a lot easier than I can."

"True," she agreed, shifting positions and climbing into his lap, smirking as she heard a low groan escape him.

"Monica," he breathed, his voice hoarse, "What are you doing? Emma--"

"Is playing in her room," she interrupted him, making herself comfortable before adding, "And we're not doing anything she can't see. Just snuggling. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Straining to keep his hands in appropriate places, he shook his head, whispering, "But, being this close to you, makes me want to be… **closer**, to you."

"How close?" she asked, pleased over her ability to seduce him.

"Connected, body and soul," he answered, raw need spilling into his tone, willpower ebbing as he moved her just enough so that he could claim her lips with his own.

"Joey's just across the hall," Monica whispered when he broke away from their kiss long enough to take a breath.

"I'm not into threesomes," he joked, chuckling when she slapped him playfully.

"He could babysit for, say, an hour?" she suggested, smiling back at him when a sly grin appeared on his flushed face.

"Best idea I've heard in five years," he said, quickly helping her to stand, adding, "Since you suggested I stay in your guestroom, Thanksgiving, '88."

Surprised, she asked, "You knew it was **me**, who suggested it?"

Nodding, standing, he admitted, "Ross told me."

"I told him not to," she grumbled, irritated, forgetting her surroundings for a moment, until Chandler leaned in and kissed her lips briefly.

"Don't be too pissed at him," he asked of her, smiling as he added, "He was trying to get me to see what a good person you were. **Are**," he corrected abruptly. "He wanted me to like you."

His statement caused her to pause, in thought. "Do you think-?" she stopped the question short, shaking her head as if to say it was **so** impossible, it didn't even warrant finishing.

"What?" he asked curiously, encouraging her to continue.

Shrugging first, she asked hesitantly, "You don't suppose, Ross, was trying to, play matchmaker, do you?"

"Huh," he said distantly, researching memories buried deep within him, muttering, "It could explain why he didn't kick my ass, when he realized we had been together."

"Why would he?" she wondered out loud, "Play matchmaker, I mean."

"Beats me," he answered, asking a few seconds later, "Is the moment gone?"

Startling, she smiled back sheepishly, remembering suddenly where they were and the plan that had been interrupted. "Kinda," she admitted, grimacing in sympathy to his fallen expression. "Sorry."

"That's ok," he laughed, forgiving her easily, asking, "We're still on for tonight though, right?"

"Absolutely," she assured him, adding, "I just think-- I think I need to talk to Ross."

"Does it really matter, if he **was** trying to get us together?" he asked, confused by her need to have an answer.

"I don't know," she admitted, her brow furrowed in obvious thought. "It's just, weird. For starters. And **so** not something he would do."

"Then, maybe he **didn't**," he suggested, adding, "Maybe it's just a coincidence, that he was building you up to me, and that you happened to like me, and that we ended up being together."

"Maybe," she said as if in agreement, but her tone indicated otherwise. "What kind of things did he say to you, about me? How was he building me up?"

"I don't really remember," he sighed, plopping back down on the couch. "Stuff like, I'm sure she didn't mean to cut off your toe, and, I know she's really sorry, and, if you just get to know her, I'm sure you'll like her. Everyone does."

"Wow," she whispered, smiling in surprise. "He **said** that?"

"Yeah," he said with a nod, adding, "Ross always spoke very highly of you."

"Now I **definitely** need to speak to him," she announced determinedly, turning towards him a second later and suggesting, "Why don't we kill two birds with one stone here." When he scowled back at her, an inquisitive look on his face, she laughed, then explained, "**You** go shopping with Joey, and **I'll** have a chat with Ross, then, we'll have the rest of the evening and night to ourselves, no distractions."

"Yeah, right," he scoffed humorously. "Your friends are **way** too invested in your life to leave you alone for an entire **evening**, let alone an evening **and** night!"

Smiling, she cupped his face in her hands, pulling him to her, kissing him just short of passionately before pulling back and staring intently into his eyes. "Then we'll put a do not disturb sign on the door and latch the chain, ok? Go shopping," she instructed, adding, "And leave the nosey bunch to **me**."

**X**

--Hand in hand with Emma, Monica entered the Museum of Natural History with purpose. Having the foresight to call in advance, she knew exactly where he'd be, and stepped in that direction like a woman on a mission.

"Hey, Mon!" Ross greeted her cheerfully, holding his arms open as Emma ran towards him.

"Unca Ross!" Emma squealed, clearly much more excited to see him than Monica seemed.

Wrapping his niece in a hug, he reminded her in a whisper, "Remember, sweetie, we need to use our super quiet voice when at Uncle Ross' work?"

"Sorry," she whispered back, swiftly moving to the display of a large dinosaur's skeleton foot as soon as Ross set her back on the ground.

"Emma," Monica called quietly to her, "Don't touch stuff, ok?"

"K, Mommy," she called back, tucking her hands in her coat pockets to help curb temptation.

"What did you need to see me about?" Ross asked curiously, a touch of concern to his tone. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she told him, "Nothing's wrong. It's just-- I was talking with Chandler earlier, and he said something that I wanted to talk with you about."

Scowling, he droned, "Oookaay."

Almost as if challenging him, she started with, "He said you told him that **I** was the one who suggested he sleep in the guestroom, back in '88."

Nodding, he muttered, "Yeah, I told him. So?"

"I asked you not to," she reminded him, irritation peaking in her tone.

"I know," he returned with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, "But, it didn't seem like such a big deal, so, when I offered him the room, and **he** said he didn't think it was such a good idea, because it might make **you** uncomfortable, I told him it was **you** who suggested it. That way he'd know that **you** were fine with it."

"Wait," she said to him, holding her hands up, palms out, as if indicating she needed a moment to process what he'd just told her. "Why-? Why would he say that? Why would he think it would be uncomfortable for me, if he stayed in the guestroom?"

Shrugging, he answered, "I don't know. You'll have to ask **him** that. Is that what this whole emergency trip down here's about?" he asked incredulously. "To ask me why I told him you were behind a suggestion made five years ago?"

"No," she shot back, admitting, "I have one other thing I need cleared up."

Sighing heavily, he asked, "And **that** is?"

She took in a deep breath, pausing before asking him, "Back **then**, were you trying to play matchmaker between me and Chandler?"

**To be continued**

Author's notes:

Ok, this is gonna be longer than I thought. My muse came flying into my brain and dropped a bunch of new ideas in there. So, it'll be **at least** two more chapters from here.

The new fic I was planning to start after this one… I'm putting it on the back burner for a while. There's an element I've been having issues with, and until I get that worked out, I don't feel I can do the story well.

**But**, don't fret! I have a different fic in mind, that my muse also dropped off inside my brain during her last visit, and I'm very excited about it! I think it has the potential of being a really amazing piece, and I just hope I do the concept justice!

Thank you so much for the well wishes! My health issues are ongoing, stemming from multiple disabilities that I have, so, unfortunately, I won't be 'getting better', but I appreciate the sentiment!

Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! Keep the love flowing, won't you? Clicky clicky and let me know what you thinky thinky. Ok, that was lame. Whatever, it's 3:30 in the stupid morning and I can't freaking sleep cause of the serious amount of pain I'm in. Oh well, such is my life.

MTLBYAKY


	18. Chapter 17

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Seventeen

**XXX**

--Staring back at Monica for a long moment, Ross' expression changed from confusion to shock over the question she'd just asked.

"Wha-? Monica, where on Earth would you get an idea like **that** from?"

Shrugging, she replied, "Nowhere. Specific. Nowhere specific," she repeated, adding, "It's just, a few things Chandler said, about things **you'd** said, and, I guess, the idea just came to me."

Scoffing, Ross told her, "Yeah, well, the answer is no. I wasn't trying to play matchmaker." His tone implied he thought the idea of it to be ridiculous.

"So, then, why were you building me up to him?" she countered, once again sounding as if challenging him. "Why did you tell him, that he should try to get to know me? That if he **did**, he would **like** me?"

"Look," he shot at her, a cross between irritated and uncertain, "I **did** say that to him, but, you've got it all wrong. I didn't say those things with the intent of you guys dating, or falling in love or anything!"

"Then," she asked curiously, "Why **did** you say those things?"

Sighing in exasperation, he admitted, "I wanted you guys to be **friends**. You're my little sister, and he was my best friend at the time! **You** disliked **him** because he called you fat in '87, and then **you** go and cut off his toe! Which, let's face it, isn't going to make the guy **love** you! He had **no** real friends. No **real** family. He had no one to spend the holidays with. I was going to ask him to spend Christmas with us, but, I knew he would bow out, and stay back on campus and be, just, **miserable**, if you guys were still at odds. So, I said what I said, with the hope that you guys could patch things up and be friends. Worked, didn't it?" he added, laughing, which brought a smile to Monica's face.

"A little **too** well," she scoffed, chuckling.

"Look, Sis," he said as he wrapped his arm around her, giving her a half hug, "I'm glad you guys are together, and I really do hope it works out, but, ultimately, I just want to see you two get along. He's a good guy," he continued, "With a sad past, who has a hard time making friends. I'd like to see him fit in with our little clique. He **needs** that. Friends. A sort of, surrogate family."

Smiling back at him, she asked teasingly, "**You're** not in love with him, are you?"

Glaring, he shot back, "Ha, ha. Very funny. No!" he insisted, adding retrospectively, "It's just, Chandler was there for me, at a time when I really needed a friend. We really bonded after that. And he opened up to me, too, about his past, and his family life, which is something he had **never** done before, according to him. It was like we were brothers, ya'know? And it didn't matter how many times I was called geek, or how many times he was called freak, we were still cool with each other."

"Unconditional friendship," she interjected, to which he nodded in response.

"Exactly," he said, kissing her hair in a brotherly way, adding, "Like you have with Rachel."

"With as close as you guys were," she sighed, in thought, "And with as close as he and I were, I wonder why he didn't, at some point, try to contact us, when he was out in Nevada, with his father."

"There's a lot of bad history there," Ross explained, his gaze dropping to the floor. "His dad, really messed him up. He even considered **not** going to see him, at first. I pretty much talked him into it," he admitted reluctantly.

"**You** talked him into it?" she asked, surprised, sounding almost angry with him, which prompted him to quickly explain.

"I didn't know he was going to disappear, Mon! He was **really** upset! He asked my opinion, and I told him…"

**FLASHBACK**

"I think you should go, Chandler."

"He was **never** there for me, Ross!" Chandler shot back, pacing the floor of the small college dorm room. "Even **before** my mom outed him and the Polynesian houseboy! Now, all of the sudden, I'm supposed to drop everything and go running to him? Just cause he's sick or whatever?"

"Maybe the sick thing is just an excuse," Ross offered, his tone calm and even. "Just a way to get you there, so he can make amends or something. He's reaching out to you, Chandler. And we both know, you're not one to hold a grudge. You should go. See what he wants. You'll kick yourself later, if you don't."

Sighing deeply, Chandler stepped up to his closet and grabbed a duffel bag off the top shelf, throwing it on his bed before moving to his dresser. Haphazardly, he snatched clothes out of his drawers, shoving them almost angrily into the bag, muttering, "This better not be another one of his tricks. Like the time I was fifteen, and he said he wanted to spend time with me, only to find out, he needed another man for his _It's Raining Men_ number!"

"Well, then, if **that's** the case, hop on the next flight back," Ross suggested, pushing off his bed to stand, approaching with the intent of helping him pack.

Stopping in mid task, Chandler threw the shirt he held in his hands back on the bed, slumping slightly as he admitted, "I can't take another disappointment, Ross. I just **can't**."

"I know," Ross said comfortingly, patting Chandler on the back, adding, "But, maybe **this** time, it won't be one."

"Maybe," Chandler sighed, resuming packing as he muttered somewhat uneasily, "Thanks, Dude, for, you know, the talk. And the help."

"It's cool," Ross told him, asking, "You want me to go with you, to the airport?"

"Nah. I got it covered," Chandler answered, cramming the last of his clothes in his bag and zipping it closed as he added, "I'll be back on Monday."

**END FLASHBACK**

"Wow," Monica whispered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, "I had no idea his family life was so-- Was such a source of pain, for him."

"Yeah, his parents really messed him up," Ross explained. "It's why he won't eat Thanksgiving food," he added, glancing over at Emma to be sure she was staying out of trouble.

"What's why?" Monica asked, confused.

"His parents announced that they were getting a divorce **and** that his father was gay, on Thanksgiving," he said, a touch of sadness to his tone as he added, "He was nine."

"The poor guy!" Monica returned sympathetically. "That's so harsh!"

Nodding, Ross continued. "It didn't get any better after that, unfortunately. They started using him like a pawn. Both fighting for custody. Both putting him in the middle of horrific fights. Trying to buy his love, and promising him the world. But, when it came down to it, neither one wanted him. Nora got custody, but as soon as the first alimony and child support check hit the mailbox, she shipped Chandler off to an all boys boarding school."

Appalled, Monica asked, "If she didn't want him, why did she fight for custody?"

"To get the child support checks?" he answered, shrugging, "That's what Chandler thinks, anyway. She promised he could come home for holidays, but, that never happened."

"Wow," she mused, "You know, with him basically having nothing in the way of parental role models, it's amazing to see how good he is with Emma."

"Yeah, but, Mon," Ross said, broaching the subject carefully, "He's only been around her five days."

"Yeah," she challenged him, "So?"

"Mon," he sighed, "Don't get all defensive, ok? I'm not trying to imply anything bad here. I just- I just wanted to clue you in, so that if anything should come up, you'd have some background on **why**."

"I'm not following you," she said with a furrowed brow, cocking her head as she asked, "Are you saying, you think Chandler could **hurt** Emma?"

"No!" he insisted, shaking his head for emphasis. "No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm just- I'm saying that, there might be certain parental situations that present themselves, that he won't necessarily know how to handle. And, if you see him fluster, or act differently, because I told you all this, you'll know **why**, and therefore be better prepared to deal with it. **Now** are you following me?"

She smiled, moving to wrap her brother in a hug. "Yeah," she whispered, "I'm following you now. Thanks."

Pulling back, he asked, "Can I give you a word of advice?"

"Sure," she said with a gesture for him to continue.

"Try to get **him** to tell you about his past. Knowing is one thing," he told her, "But him **knowing** you know, is another. Know what I mean?"

Nodding in agreement, she asked, "Can you keep Emma overnight tonight?"

"Sure. It'll just be me though," he added. "Carol is doing a girly sleepover thing with Susan tonight."

"Huh," Monica muttered, in thought. "She sure is spending a lot of time with Susan lately, isn't she?"

"No more than the kind of time I spend with you guys," he returned with a shrug, then suggested, "Why don't you just leave Emma with me? I'm almost done here, and Rhonda can watch her till I am."

"Which one is Rhonda?" Monica asked, scowling as she tried to remember.

"Big gal, African-American. Boisterous."

"Oh, yeah," she laughed, nodding. "Alright, if you're sure you don't mind."

"Nah. It's fine," he told her, adding, "I even still have her jammies at my place, from the last time she stayed over."

"Oh, good. Ok. I'll go talk to Emma," she said as she pointed in the direction of her daughter, "And you go find Rhonda."

"Ok! And, **break**!" Ross chuckled, clapping softly, but when Monica only looked back at him incredulously, the smile dropped from his face. "You know, like a football huddle?" he explained, but Monica's expression remained. Rolling his eyes, he muttered as he started to walk away, "I thought it was funny."

When his back was turned, Monica grinned and shook her head, then turned to approach Emma, whose face was pressed up against the glass at the caveman display.

"Sweetie," she called to her, "C'mere a sec. I need to talk to you."

**X**

--Chandler watched in amusement as Joey grabbed items at random off the grocery store shelves, throwing each into the basket like he was scoring points in a basketball game, complete with mock cheering from a nonexistent crowd.

"Joe?" Chandler asked him finally, "Did it ever occur to you that you shop for food like your parents are away for the weekend?"

"What?" Joey asked with a scowl, causing Chandler's smile to broaden.

"Let's see what we have here in the basket," Chandler suggested, pulling the cart he was pushing over to the side of the aisle to take inventory. "Cheetos, Doritos, Fritos, Super Sugar Os, Oreos, Spaghetti-Os… Does everything you eat have to end in 'O'?"

"Hey!" Joey defended himself, "Poptarts doesn't end in 'O'!"

"That reminds me," Chandler muttered, scanning the list in his hand, "Emma wants Poptarts… But, I don't see them on the list Monica made me."

"Then, she probably doesn't want you to buy them," Joey offered, grabbing a box off the shelf stealthily, hiding it from Chandler as he slipped it into the cart.

"Maybe she just forgot to add it," Chandler said, immediately unburying the item Joey had placed in the cart and holding it up. "HoHos?" he asked with a smirk, adding, "Your parents didn't let you eat a lot of sweets growing up, did they?"

Shaking his head, Joey shot back, "I'll balance it out by buying some fruit or something, ok? Jeez! What do **you** care anyway?"

"Whoa," Chandler said, hands up, palms out, gesturing a truce. "Sorry, man. Did I hit a sore spot or something?"

"Sorry," Joey apologized, his tone evening out. "It's just, everyone gives me grief about my eating habits! It gets old, man! My parents, my sisters, the gang, my agent! A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips," he crackled, imitating his agent. "The camera adds ten pounds! You won't even get offers to do gay porn if you're a fattie! I'll have you know," he announced, going back to his regular voice, "I exercise every day! And it's not like I eat all this crap in one setting!"

"Hey, you don't have to explain yourself to me," Chandler told him, glancing around at the passersby that stared as they moved past them. "I was just joking around with you."

Calmer, Joey muttered, "Right. You said you do that. I'm gonna have to learn when you're joking, and when you're serious, I guess."

"I'll try to clue you in, till you get the hang of my sarcasm," he offered, changing the subjects as he asked, "What kind of Poptarts does Emma like?"

"Cherry, I think," Joey answered, trying to remember. "Or, maybe it was strawberry. Something red," he added with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Grab both then, I guess," Chandler said as he gestured to the shelf they sat on, reminding Joey a moment later, "You were gonna tell me about Monica's parents, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Joey answered, telling him as he placed the two kinds of toaster pastries into the cart, "I don't know much about them, like I said. I've only met them a dozen times, maybe. Mr. Geller is an ok guy," he began sharing what he knew. "Likes sports, **loves** Emma to pieces. He's always pulling quarters out her ears and stuff. He never says much, whenever 'Steven' is mentioned. Just that it's sad that he's missing so much of her life, and her growing up. Mrs. Geller is angrier, when she talks about him. She says stuff like, he's not a man, if he could just use a young woman like that and never call again. And, he doesn't deserve to see his child, after what he put Monica through."

Sighing, Chandler asked, "Do you think there is **any** way they're going to understand my side of this?"

"I don't know, Dude," Joey answered honestly. "Talk to Monica, or Ross, and see what **they** think. Even Rachel would know better than I would. Her and Monica have been best friends since they were, like, in kindergarten or something. Rachel knows the Gellers a lot better than I do."

"That's a good idea, man. Thanks," Chandler said, glancing down at Monica's shopping list once again. "What the hell is endive?" he asked, scowling in Joey's direction as he held up the paper in his hands for him to see.

"I don't know," Joey shrugged, suggesting, "A kind of seafood? Scuba gear?"

Laughing, Chandler asked, "Why would Monica put scuba gear on a grocery shopping list?"

Before Joey could answer, an older woman walking by informed them, "It's a kind of lettuce. Produce department."

"Thanks," Chandler said to her cordially, before turning his attention back to Joey. "While we're in the produce department, we'll get you some potatoes and tomatoes to go with your 'O' themed foods."

Slowly, a smirk formed on Joey's face. "That's the sarcastic humor thing, right?"

"See?" Chandler praised him jokingly, "You're catching on already!"

**X**

--Chandler gave an obligatory knock with his elbow before straining to turn the doorknob for apartment twenty, his arms loaded down with grocery bags making the simple action difficult.

Hearing the struggle, Monica rushed to his aid, offloading several of the bags as Chandler headed for the dining table to set them down.

"Got everything on the list," he told her, immediately helping her in the task of unloading and putting away. "Next time you want something odd, you might want to put in parenthesis next to it, what it is though. Or at least, where I can fine it."

"What on the list was odd?" she asked curiously, grabbing items at random and placing them in their designated locations.

"Endive?" he answered with a smirk. "Luckily, some lady walking by heard us discussing it and clued me in. Otherwise, I might still be down there, trying to figure it out."

"Sorry," she laughed, pulling the fore-mentioned item out and holding it up, adding, "It's like a kind of lettuce."

"I know that **now**," he said with a shake of his head. "Joey thought it was either, a kind of seafood, or scuba diving equipment."

Laughing again, she asked, "Why would I put scuba equipment on a grocery list?"

"That's what **I** asked him!" he shot back, laughing as well. "Oh!" he added, unbagging two identical bright blue boxes, "And I didn't know what kind of Poptarts Emma wanted, and Joey could only remember that the filling was red, so, I bought her cherry **and** strawberry."

"Oh," Monica replied, sounding unenthused. "Ok, well, put those in the cupboard above the fridge then. If she **sees** them, that's all she'll want to eat for breakfast and snack, till they're all gone."

Noting the tone, he asked, "Should I **not** have bought them?"

"No, it's fine," she assured him, smiling for emphasis. "I appreciate the thought, it's just, she has a **major** sweet tooth, and it's a real challenge, trying to get her to eat healthy when there's junk food in the house."

"Sorry," he apologized, moving to put the boxes away where she had requested. "I'll check with you next time."

"Thanks," she whispered, stepping up behind him, so that when he turned around, they were face to face. "Emma is staying the night at Ross'," she told him, smirking suggestively, adding, "We have the apartment and the rest of the day and night, all to ourselves."

"Is that so?" he asked, snaking his arm around her waist, turning with her so she was pinned against the fridge. "And the nosey bunch?"

His lips hovering over hers, she shuddered as she whispered, "Ross is taking care of them for us."

"Hmm," he hummed, teasing her, denying her his kiss, whispering back, "So, I have you all to myself, till morning."

She nodded slight, asking, "Any ideas how we'll spend the time?"

"I plan to get lost in you," he told her, brushing his lips against hers, playing with her. "I want to memorize every inch of your body and mind, then, when I have, I want to start over again from the beginning."

"Wow," she breathed, accepting his gentle kiss before asking with a hint of humor, "Can we finish putting the groceries away first?"

Chuckling, he answered, "I think I can push my plans back five minutes."

"I only need three," she said with a smirk, sliding her hand up his chest before pushing him at arm's length. "If we work together," she added, "One and a half."

A subtle grin inched onto his face as he suggested, "Since **you** know where stuff goes, I'll unbag, you put away."

Smiling back at each other for only a moment, they both jumped into action, Chandler stepping up to the table where the bags still sat as Monica moved to the food shelves above the stove. Yanking items out two at a time, he tossed each to her, waiting for her to situate the one before tossing the next. A rhythm formed quickly, the bags emptying fast as she darted between the pantry shelves and the refrigerator, uncharacteristically shoving things in the general location of where they belonged.

The task complete less than two minutes later, they sprinted towards each other, Chandler lifting Monica into his arms before moving briskly towards her room.

Laying her gently on the bed, climbing in beside her, he whispered, "Tonight, is just the beginning."

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Ok, I'm gonna stop predicting how many more chapters, cause I still have ideas for this story, and I just honestly don't know how many more chapters it'll take to get them all out.

Working on the concept for the new fic… it'll be Mondler, but will include all the friends pretty heavily. It won't be exclusively Mondler, in other words, but that might change as I tweak and outline the concept.

Season six Mondler tribute is up on YouTube, username: janaonwheels.

Need to see those reviews, folks! They really do inspire me to write, believe it or not. When I know people are anxious to read more, it gets my creativity going.

So, if you want fast updates, you know what you have to do.

MTLBYAKY


	19. Chapter 18

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Eighteen

**XXX**

--Emma skipped through the door of Central Perk, Ross two steps behind her, asking her to slow down; everyone's attention shot over to them instantly.

"Hey, Ross," Joey called out, waving him over to the orange couch he, Rachel, and Phoebe were occupying, gathering Emma into his arms when she leapt into his lap. "How come **you** have Emma?"

"She's spending the night with me tonight," Ross replied as he raised a hand towards Gunther, gaining his attention before sitting on the chair to the right of where his friends were seated. "Monica wanted some alone time with Chandler."

"Hey," Gunther greeted cordially, his pad and pencil in hand and at the ready, "What can I get for you?"

"Coffee, please," Ross muttered pulling his jacket off, gesturing to Joey that he should take Emma's off as well.

"K," Gunther acknowledged as he jotted the order down, "and what would **you** like, Emma?" he then asked, his voice raising an octave, speaking in a childlike manner.

"Hot cocoa," Emma answered, smiling over at him, to which he smiled warmly at her in return.

"With an ice cube so it doesn't burn your tongue?" he asked, glancing at Ross briefly before returning his attention to the bright-eyed little girl.

"Yes, please," she stated politely, readjusting her position on Joey's lap. "Thank you, Gunt-ter."

He gave her a courteous nod, then turned away as Ross leaned in towards his niece to praise her.

"That was very good manners, Emma," he whispered, smiling at the others when she sat a little taller, beaming with pride.

"So, I take it they're not joining us," Rachel asked of Ross, sipping her coffee casually, attempting to mask her interest in the conversation she was hoping to start.

"I really highly doubt it," he answered, adding with a cautious look towards Emma, "I think she's hoping to have _'the night'_."

"Pretty sure they already had _'the night'_ earlier today," Joey informed with a smirk.

"He's not talking about S-E-X, Joey," Rachel said with a roll of her eyes, spelling out the word sex for Emma's benefit. "He's talking about having **the night**! You know, when you stay up all night talking, and learning all about the other person?"

"Oh," Joey returned with a scowl, adding, "**I've** never done that."

"**That** doesn't surprise me," Rachel sighed, shaking her head. "Only people looking for a deep committed relationship have **the night**," she explained, then turning her attention back to Ross, asked him, "You **really** think that's the plan?"

"Yeah," he answered, admitting, "I sort of suggested it."

"Why?" Phoebe asked, finally jumping into the conversation.

"I can't really go into detail," he told them, his eyes shifting sharply towards Emma, silently telling them that he didn't want his niece to hear something she shouldn't be privy to, "But, let's just say that Chandler's **past**, is discussion worthy."

Concern edged Rachel's expression. "He isn't-? He hasn't been, like, in J-A-I-L, has he?"

"No," Ross scoffed, "It's nothing like that. It's just- his childhood, was, well, **bad**. Let's just leave it at that."

"How do **you** know that, but Monica **doesn't**?" Phoebe asked curiously.

"He confided in me," Ross explained, "Back in college."

"Here's your order, guys," Gunther interrupted, setting two mugs down on the coffee table, along with the bill.

"Thank you, Gunt-ter," Emma chirped, hopping off Joey's lap, sitting on the floor in front of her hot cocoa.

Smiling, Ross added, "Yes, thank you, Gunther."

As soon as Gunther walked away, Rachel asked, "What kind of bad? Was he-? Was he, A-B-U-S-E-D?"

"Not physically," Ross answered, tipping his cup cautiously to his lips.

Gasping, Phoebe asked, "S-E-X-U-A-L-L-Y?"

Ross shook his head. "Emotionally."

Almost abruptly, Rachel said to Joey, "Tell him what you and Chandler were talking about, at the store!"

"He was asking me about your parents," Joey shared. "He seemed really concerned about them forgiving him, and accepting him."

"I'm not worried about that," Ross eventually muttered, his attention on his coffee; Rachel immediately arched an eyebrow in response.

"You know something," she accused him, Phoebe and Joey agreeing by inching to the edge of their seats, staring back at him intently.

Reluctant at first, to tell them what he knew, he avoided eye contact, doctoring his coffee with cream and sugar, stirring the contents and taste-testing it to prolong the inevitable.

"Ross," Rachel challenged him, scolding him, and he sighed as he relented.

"Fine," he snipped, "But you can't say anything to **anyone**, ok? And by anyone, I mean Monica and Chandler," he added to clarify, and everyone nodded in agreement.

"Ok," he began, glancing at Emma, knowing he would have to word his declaration carefully, due to her presence. "They know," he told them, adding, "You know… **know**."

"How?" Rachel asked, shocked.

"Ok," Ross explained, "You remember when Monica banished me from her hospital room? Cause I wouldn't let the whole, premature-slash-full term thing go?" Rachel nodded, so he continued. "Well, my parents and I went down to the cafeteria, to get some coffee, and, well, the debate continued…"

**FLASHBACK**

--"Seven pounds two ounces is too big for a preemie, isn't it?" Ross asked as he took a seat at a small table off the center of the room.

"Yes," Judy Geller answered easily, joining her son, her husband a step behind them.

"So, what does that mean then?" Jack asked, taking his seat next to his wife.

"She got pregnant before she said she did," Judy explained, adding, "By at least a couple weeks."

"I'd say more like, three or four," Ross added, his brain immediately recalling the day after Thanksgiving, and the looks and smiles Monica and Chandler had shared at the breakfast table.

"Did he say anything to you?" Judy asked her son, to which Ross looked back at her inquisitively.

"Who?" Jack asked, still out of the loop.

"Chandler," Judy said to him, her attention still on Ross…

**END FLASHBACK**

--"There was no point in denying it," Ross muttered, shaking his head as it hung low, "She had already figured it out. I told her no, that he hadn't said anything to me at all, but that I'd had the same suspicions. We decided that, we would just play along with Monica's story. That she must've had a reason for creating 'Steven'. We never spoke of it again, but, whenever Steven was mentioned, for whatever reason, my parents would always share knowing glances with each other, and with me."

"Wait," Joey interjected, "That means, if they know **Chandler** is the **father**, they hate **him**!"

"They don't hate him," Ross returned with a heavy sigh, adding, "They're just, **upset**, with him. I'm sure if he explains things to them, they'll forgive him. And accept him."

"Even your mom?" Joey asked incredulously, his tone expressing doubt.

"Mom will be harder to convince than Dad," Ross admitted, adding, "But, she'll come around."

"Maybe we should help," Phoebe suggested, and everyone looked to her, their expressions requesting elaboration. "Maybe we should **all** be there, when Monica and Chandler tell them," she explained. "That way, we can stand up for him, and help to convince them that he really is a great guy, who was just caught up in an unfortunate set of circumstances."

"I'll do it!" Joey immediately volunteered.

Phoebe nodded and smiled at him, then asked, "Rachel?"

"Sure," she agreed, adding, "But, it'll mean more coming from Ross."

All eyes then went to him. "Of course I'll help," he said to them, adding thoughtfully, "The man is like a brother to me. And, if they get married, he **will** be. In law."

"Yeah, but, don't say that around them," Joey warned. "I said something about that earlier, and they got weird."

"That's just cause it's too early in the relationship right now," Phoebe countered. "Give it a year or two, and I'll just **bet** you-"

"Unca Bing's my daddy," Emma interrupted, chiming in as she finished her lukewarm cocoa, setting the empty mug back down on the coffee table.

"We know, sweetie," Ross said to her, grabbing a napkin and moving to wipe the chocolate mustache off her upper lip.

"And we better tell them **soon**," Phoebe announced, looking pointedly towards Emma as she added, "Before someone **else** does."

**XXX**

--Naked and sweaty, still panting from his recent exertion, Chandler rolled onto his side, draping his arm over Monica as he snuggled against her.

"I didn't think it was possible to be **this** happily exhausted," he whispered as he kissed her shoulder, sighing contentedly.

"I didn't think it was possible to both love and **hate** a row of buttons," she returned, humor accompanying her heavy breathing. "When you say you're going to undo buttons oh so slowly, you're not kidding. It was like torture!"

Deadpan, he said, "If you're ever a prisoner of war, you're in for a **big** surprise!"

"If you're the captor," she told him, "Then I'd happily be the prisoner."

"Kinky," he laughed, grinning back at her when she shifted positions to look over at him, a shocked expression on her face.

"I'm not talking about role playing," she snipped playfully. "I was trying for cute and adorable."

"Well," he said softly, "You **are** that."

"Thank you," she whispered, blushing slightly, asking a moment later, "You know what I would **love** to do right now?"

"No," he answered drolly, "But whatever it is, I'm gonna need a few minutes to recover first."

Laughing, she told him, "What I want to do, doesn't require any effort on your part."

"I'm all for **that**!" he exclaimed with a smirk, receiving a prompt but gentle smack from her.

"I'm not talking about **that**!" she shot back, kissing his chest where her hand had made contact.

"Hey, a man can dream, can't he?" he asked jokingly, shifting his position, staring deep into her eyes. "What did you have in mind?"

"Talking," she answered, smiling when his expression showed slight disappointment.

"Ah, well," he told her, collapsing back onto the bed, bringing her with him, "I think I have enough energy for **that**. What about?" he asked, somewhat dreading her response.

"Well, I was thinking," she started with a sense of caution, "And, I realized, I know almost **nothing** about you."

Nodding slightly, he sighed, asking, "What did you want to know?"

"Well, let's start at the beginning," she suggested, then asked, "Where were you born? Where did you grow up? What was your childhood like?"

"Connecticut," he answered the first question without hesitation, then it seemed to take several tense seconds, before he continued. "I spent most of my childhood, at an all boys boarding school, in Vermont. I spent summers at home, if you could **call** it a home," he added bitterly, "But with servants, not my parents."

"Why?" Monica asked, a touch of sadness in her voice, "Where were your parents?"

"My dad was in Vegas," he answered; she could feel him tense up as he explained. "My mom was usually off globe hopping, for book tours, or just because. Neither one wanted much to do with me, unless it served **their** purpose," he added, exhaling sharply, attempting to relax against the stress he was feeling.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "What kind of purpose?"

"Well," he answered, "Like, when my dad wanted me to be in one of his dragshow numbers, or when my mom wanted to date the guy who was a teacher. She was mom of the year," he added with a sarcastic bite to his tone, "For those three weeks. Then, she moved on to someone else, and I was pushed back and out of her life again."

"I'm so sorry your childhood was like that," she whispered, resting her head on his chest, absently playing with the sparse amount of chest hairs located in the valley between his pecks.

Sliding his hand up to rest on her shoulder, he held her tighter as he whispered back, "I've come to terms with it, for the most part."

"I know you spent time with your father, before he died," she mentioned, asking, "Were you able to resolve things with him?"

"For the most part," he answered with a sigh. "He apologized, for not being a better father, and for not being there for me. He said if he'd had it to do over again, he'd do things differently. We talked about his life… You know, his childhood, his college years. Life with Mom, life after Mom. We talked about **my** life, and how things were for me, growing up. We even talked about **you**," he added, kissing her hair.

"Really?" she asked, surprised, and she felt him nod. "What did you say about me?"

**FLASHBACK**

--"So, what about **you**, kiddo?" Charles asked his son. "You seeing anyone?"

"Well," Chandler answered, shifting in his chair slightly, leaning his elbows on his father's hospital bed, "I don't know if you'd call it **seeing** her, but, there is this one gal I'm pretty much completely in to."

"Yeah?" Charles asked with interest. "What's her name?"

"Monica," Chandler said with a smile. "My best friend's little sister. Beautiful, smart, funny… she's actually the reason why I'm limping," he added, to which Charles laughed.

"That good, huh?"

Laughing in return, Chandler told him, "Not **that**, Dad. She- Well, she accidentally cut off my toe."

"Ah," Charles mused jokingly, "The way **most** good romances start."

"She was trying to flirt," Chandler explained with a smirk, "And she was just doing it **all** wrong. She had about a dozen things in her hands, along with a knife, and it slipped out of her grip and, just, landed with absolute precision, right on my pinky toe."

"And that's when you knew you just **had** to have her?" Charles asked with humor, causing Chandler to jokingly glare back at him.

"**No**," he shot back, shaking his head, "It was later that night, when we got a chance to just, sit and chat. **That's** when I knew," he added thoughtfully.

"I see," Charles muttered with a smile, it dropping slightly as he added, "So, you're probably pretty anxious to get back to her then, huh?"

"Well, I am," Chandler answered, his expression grave, "But, I'm not leaving you, until- Until, you know, you don't need me anymore."

"Until I die," Charles said what Chandler came short of saying. "You can say it, son. I know I'm dying. I told you," he added with a short chuckle, "Remember?"

Nodding, his head hung low, Chandler asked, "Are you scared?"

"I was," Charles answered, "But, I'm not anymore. And I think that, in part, is because of **you**."

"Me?" Chandler questioned him, looking up into his face, into identical blue eyes.

"I think part of my fear," Charles explained, "Was because I felt like I had unfinished business. I don't feel like that anymore," he added, placing his hand on top of Chandler's, smiling reassuringly.

**END FLASHBACK**

--A tear broke free, splashing onto Chandler's chest, alerting him to the fact that Monica was crying.

"Shhh," he consoled her, pulling her tighter to him as he wrapped his other arm around her, "It's ok, Monica, don't cry. It was time well spent."

"How long did he hang on," she asked with a sniffle, "Before-? Before he… passed?"

"Almost a year," he answered, adding, "I got the call at school."

"School?" she asked curiously, shifting to look up at him.

"Yeah," he muttered, his eyes firmly planted on the ceiling, avoiding her stare. "After about three months, my dad convinced me to take some classes at the local college, so that my life wasn't completely on hold while with him. When he died, I just- I just stayed where I was. Finished up college **there**, since I was already enrolled, and doing fairly well."

Hesitating for a moment, worried about possibly upsetting him, Monica rested back against him before eventually asking, "Not to rehash a buried subject, but, why exactly didn't you call me? Or Ross?"

"Like I said before," he answered with a deep heavy sigh, "I was just **so** caught up in what was happening with my dad-- I thought about it, Monica, I **really** did, but, my brain was, like, on overload. You would come into my mind, and I would smile at the memory, and then, it was like, I'd feel guilty. My dad was dying, and I'm smiling, and thinking of **you**! It seemed, I don't know, inappropriate," he added remorsefully. "After he died, after my life started to gain some semblance of normalcy, I really **did** think of calling you, but, I didn't- I didn't know what to say. How to explain. I thought you'd be mad at me. I figured that, you probably thought I was using you."

"I figured Ross would feel the same way," he continued, closing his eyes to ward off the tears that started to sting and well. "Not only did I just drop out of **his** life, but I ditched his little sister, too! I just assumed he hated me. I assumed **you** did, too. So, every time I thought of calling you, or Ross, I would just, chicken out."

"We didn't hate you," she told him, kissing his chest in a consoling manner. "We were worried about you. I swear, I imagined every kind of horrible scenario. Like, you were mugged and killed, or hit by a bus or something. I even called several newspaper syndicates, checking to see if your name came up in obituaries! But, we didn't know **where** in Nevada you were, so, that made searching the papers and hospitals difficult."

Surprised, he asked, "You really tried **that** hard to find me?" When he felt her nod, he asked, "Why?"

"Besides the fact that I was pregnant with your child?" she answered, nuzzling against his neck, "I was completely hung up on you."

Moaning at the gentle teasing affection, he asked, "Are we done talking? Cause, I think I've recovered enough to…" He trailed off, running his hand slowly up her naked body, cupping her breast, smiling at the deep sigh that escaped her, tickling his skin.

"For now," she breathed, sliding on top of him, smirking as she watched his eyes glaze over in shock and anticipation. "This **will** require **some** effort on your part," she warned him, leaning in to kiss his lips softly. "I'm still recovering, too, ya'know."

Immediately in response, he gripped her waist, asking, "Is something like **this**, what you had in mind?"

Nodding slowly, she inched onto her knees, wriggling against him, till she could feel that she was in position, and that he was ready for her.

Simultaneously, they moaned as they joined.

**To be continued**

Author's note:

I am **so** sorry it has taken so long getting this chapter out. I have been in a **very** bad place. Like, if I didn't know better, putting a gun to my head and ending it, kind of bad. Don't panic, I'm **not** suicidal, but when I get **that** depressed, my brain does think of things like that. I know better than to take my life. And in fact, I'm actually actively trying to prolong my life, at least until my youngest son turns 18. But that's another story.

Anyway, I **am** sorry, and I hope to keep up on the quick updates from here on out. At a standstill in the concept stage of the next fic, so I hope to get back on track with that, too.

Mondler season seven tribute is up on YouTube, username: janaonwheels.

I really appreciate the reviews guys. Please, keep up the love. I could really use it right now.

MTLBYAKY


	20. Chapter 19

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Nineteen

**XXX**

--The shrill ringing sound finally reached into her subconsciousness, bringing her slowly into awareness. Fumbling in her sleepy state, she reached for the phone, only partially disentangling herself from Chandler's embrace.

"What time is it?" Chandler asked, moving with her to prevent the loss of contact.

"Don't know," she mumbled, forcing her eyes to open enough to locate the 'talk' button on the cordless phone. "Hello?" she rasped, peering over at the bedside clock, whispering to the man lying next to her, "Seven-twenty-two."

"Mon?" Ross' voice sobered her slightly. "I tried to get in, but your chain is latched. Your daughter would like to see you now. And eat," he added, sighing as he informed her in a slightly sarcastic tone of voice, "Apparently, the food at **my** place isn't good enough."

Nodding, not that he could see that through the phone, Monica asked of him, "Give us fifteen minutes, k?"

Hearing her side of the conversation, Chandler stirred, asking in a whisper, "Emma?"

Monica nodded as Ross agreed to her request.

"Alright. Just, come get us across the hall when you're up."

"K. Bye." Clicking off the phone first, she groaned as she collapsed back onto the bed, up against Chandler's side, draping her arm across his waist. "We have fifteen minutes," she warned him groggily, adding, "I wish I didn't have to go to work today."

"I wish you didn't, either," he sighed. "Glad **I** don't have to."

"Why don't **you** have to?" she asked, eyes still closed, sleepiness still lingering.

"Yesterday, before breakfast, I called and requested the rest of the week off. Paid personal days," he added, pulling her tighter to him and blindly kissing her hair.

"Why?" she asked, struggling to wake up.

"You. Emma. I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything at work," he answered, then asked in a far away whisper, "Who has Emma today?"

"Phoebe this morning," she mumbled distantly, "Then my dad this afternoon. Why?"

Sleep was threatening to envelop him, and he hummed before forcing his voice to answer her. "Tell them they're not needed. I'll watch her."

"Yeah?" she asked, smiling when she felt him nod. "K. We should probably get up now," she said with a sigh of resignation, to which Chandler groaned and held her tighter.

"It's too perfect like this," he told her, almost pouting as he requested of her, "Five more minutes?"

"**You** can have five more minutes," she muttered. "**I**, have to take a shower."

"But it won't **be** perfect, if you leave," he complained; his eyebrows raised, but his lids remained closed.

"Sorry," she apologized, feeling the release of tension in his arms, allowing her to slip out of his embrace.

When he felt her leave the bed, his eyes shot open. "Wait!" he called to her, and she spun around quickly at the sound of urgency in his tone. "I need a kiss, before you leave," he told her, only the slightest of smirks taking away from the seriousness in his voice, "To get me through, until you return."

Smiling, she slipped into her robe and cinched it before crawling on hands and knees, back into bed. Turning on his side, propping himself up on one elbow, he slid his hand into the silk opening, inching the material off her shoulder and kissing her collarbone before traveling sensually towards her lips.

"If you keep **this** up," she whispered, her eyes drifting shut, "I'm gonna need a lot more than fifteen minutes, before I can let them in."

"You'll have to stop me," he half joked. "The ability to restrain myself just flew south."

If she didn't put a stop to it soon, she wouldn't be able to, and she knew it. Gently pushing him away, he groaned as his lips were forced to leave her, sighing deeply as if wounded.

"Sorry," she apologized, smirking at his melodramatic facial expressions, then asked, "Why don't you take a shower with me? Time efficient **and** fun," she added, kissing him quickly and quirking an eyebrow, waiting for his response.

"Let's see," he mused, as if trying to deliberate, "Running my soapy hands all over a wet naked lady, or five more minutes of sleep?"

Scoffing, her slight smirk remaining, she rolled her eyes as she left the bed, calling over her shoulder, "Coming?"

"Hell, yeah!" he exclaimed, leaping out of bed and near skipping the few paces needed to catch up with her, asking, "How much time do we have?"

"About ten minutes," she answered, pushing the door to the bathroom open as she added, "Fifteen, tops."

Still in the doorway, he turned her to face him, dipping his head to kiss her neck as he whispered, "Fifteen minutes of fondling… I've died and gone to heaven."

"If that's all it takes," she laughed, grinning slyly back at him as she moved towards the shower.

As she turned on the water and adjusted the temperature, he stepped up behind her, pushing her robe slowly off her shoulders and down her arms, his hands gripping her waist gently as soon as the article hit the floor. Lightheaded when his lips latched onto the tight skin between her shoulder and neck, she closed her eyes, leaning back against him. His index finger gently touching her chin, he encouraged her to lift it, slipping his right hand across her front to her left shoulder, his kisses moving to her throat as he slowly turned her to face him.

"The last twenty-four hours has been the most amazing of my life," he told her, smiling when she sighed shakily in response.

"Same here," she whispered, her hands moving to his hips in an effort to keep balance, his affections and the steam and heat from the shower disturbing her equilibrium.

"I think we can jump in now," he said as he pulled back, grinning slightly as her eyes slowly opened and met his. "You ok?"

Smiling back at him, she whispered, "Never better," then took his hand before pulling the curtain and stepping in over the edge of the tub, him immediately following.

Standing behind her, his hands came to rest on her upper arms, just below her shoulders, his lips melding effortlessly to her neck, murmuring against her pale freckled skin, "I can't believe how beautiful you are."

"I can't believe you're here with me, touching me," she returned breathlessly. "It's like a dream. Like so many dreams I've had," she added wistfully, grabbing the bar of soap and turning it between her hands, working up a lather.

He reached around and took the bar from her hands, resting his against her abdomen as he lathered it, asking, "You've had dreams about me?"

Nodding in answer, she shared with him, "I used to dream that you never left, or that you had come back. And you'd take me in your arms, and kiss me, and tell me how much you'd missed me."

"I **did** miss you," he told her, placing the soap back on the ledge before running his hands slowly up her body, admitting, "I had dreams about you, too."

"Good dreams?" she asked, leaning back into him, sighing as he fondled her leisurely.

"Not as good as the reality," he answered, enjoying the feel of her, and her reaction to him, "But, yes," he added, "They were good dreams."

"Care to tell me about them?" Her question was immediately followed by a moan, as he reached between her legs, cleansing her intimately.

"They were similar to yours," he explained in a soft tone of voice, turning her and pulling her close to him, soaping her back as he added, "They usually involved us being intimate."

Pushing away just enough to look back at him, she arched an eyebrow, smirking as she jokingly glared; he shrugged in response.

"I'm a guy," he said with a smirk of his own. "That's how we dream."

Pressing herself into him once again, she asked, "So, if the reality is better than the dreams, and the dreams were about sex, does that mean the real me is better than the dream me, in, you know, bed?"

Laughing, he said, "Only slightly, cause my dreams were based on our one night together, and **that** night, was amazing."

"So, then, I'm better **now** than I was **back then**?"

The tone she used made it hard for him to read her. Unsure of how she would react to any answer he might give, he hesitated before responding. "Well," he said cautiously, "It's not like we knew what we were doing."

Shocked, pushing back, she reinitiated eye contact. "Wait," she said, stammering as she asked, "**We**? You were-? Were you a virgin, **too**?"

Almost as if ashamed, he lowered his gaze, nodding as he muttered, "I'd done… **other** stuff. But, technically… yeah."

"Oh my God," she exclaimed in a whisper, barely able to hide her slight amusement, asking, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was embarrassed," he answered, his head hung low, adding, "And it's not like you asked."

"Why would you be embarrassed?" she questioned him seriously, her glee on hold, her brow furrowed as she looked back at his solemn expression.

Shrugging, he told her, "I was a college man. I thought, I had some image I needed to uphold. I was like, the older, more experienced, college man."

"What did you think," she asked carefully, very aware of how unsettled he seemed to be, "That I wouldn't want you, if I'd known?"

"I don't know," he answered vaguely, looking up into her eyes as he asked, "Would you have? Still wanted me, I mean? Had you known?"

Touching his face gently, she smiled sweetly, answering with absolute certainty, "I would have wanted you **more**."

"Really?" When she nodded in answer, he asked, "Why?"

"Well," she quipped, "For starters, no diseases to worry about." He laughed, and she grinned in response, adding seriously a moment later, "It's sweet. We were each others' first! Plus, I wouldn't have been so nervous, had I known."

"You didn't seem to be that nervous," he recalled, reaching past her, grabbing the soap and handing it to her as he added, "You seemed more nervous yesterday."

"I was," she admitted, working the bar back into a lather distractedly. "Back in '88, I was acting off pure adrenalin. Yesterday, I was more aware of myself, and the step we were taking."

"**I** was more nervous back **then**," he confessed, his eyes dropping to her hands, and the suds she was creating. "I kept thinking that, I'd do something wrong, or stupid, and you'd know I was… inexperienced."

Shaking her head, she assured him, "I couldn't tell. You were… really, **really** good. Surprising, since you'd never been with anyone before."

"Yeah, well, not **that** surprising," he muttered, meeting her eyes once again. "My parents were completely and totally sexually inappropriate. I'd seen my first orgy by the age of seven."

"Oh my God! Are you **serious**?" she asked, appalled.

Ashamed, he nodded, adding, "And, what with my mom being a romance novelist…" He trailed off, looking away before continuing, his tone showing the bitterness he felt towards his upbringing as he said to her, "You didn't grow up in the Bing house, without learning a few things about sex."

Setting the bar of soap back on the ledge, she whispered, "I'm **so** sorry, Chandler, that your childhood was like that."

"I've come to terms with it," he replied with indifference, sighing a moment later, when her soapy hands slid up his chest.

"Have you?" she asked, trying to ease the tension of the question by continuing her exploration of his body without hesitating.

"Meaning?" he asked, only slightly more rigid than before; her gentle caressing touch was helping to keep him relaxed, despite the subject matter.

"You still seem bitter about it," she explained, running her hands across his hips and down his outer thighs.

"I probably always will be, a little," he told her, moaning before admitting to her, "This really isn't how I was hoping to spend our fifteen minutes. This conversation, while you're doing **that**, is causing major conflict in my brain. **And** elsewhere," he added, his eyes shifting lower briefly before locking with hers once again.

Smiling her apology, she suggested, "Then, let's change the subject. Last night was wonderful," she purred as she slipped her hand between his legs, rubbing to clean as well as excite.

"MmmmMonica…" The sound came from somewhere deep within him, his eyes drifting closed as he murmured, "Last night, yesterday afternoon, this morning… Beyond wonderful."

"I think our time is almost up," she guessed, her cheeks reddening slightly as she added, "We should do this together."

With slowly, barely opening eyes, he asked, "Do **what**?"

Blushing deeper, smirking, she took his hand and moved it to between her legs; he caught on instantly, leaning in to kiss her as he began to stimulate her.

Together, they found a rhythm, in synch as they pleasured each other, to the brink and over. Their kiss softened and slowed, as did their movements, until the only action between them was Chandler's arms encompassing her and the rise and fall of their chests as they panted for air.

"We're gonna need the soap again," she finally whispered, after several moments of silence, "And we're gonna need to hurry."

**X**

--Joey's constant pacing was fastly getting on Ross' last nerve. "Could you stop doing that?" he asked with an irritated sigh, glancing in his direction when he could see him stop and stare over at him through his peripheral vision.

"You said they said fifteen minutes," Joey whined, asking in the same tone, "How long has it been?"

Checking his watch first, Ross informed him, "About twelve."

"How long does it take to throw clothes on?" Joey complained, resuming pacing. "People are **hungry** over here!"

"Didn't you **just** go shopping with Chandler yesterday?" Ross asked, purposefully making a wrong move in the game of tic tac toe he was playing with Emma, allowing her to win.

"Yeah, but, what Monica makes is **better**," Joey answered with a scowl, asking after only a beat pause, "**Now** how long has it been?"

Without even looking at the time, Ross snipped back, "Thirteen minutes."

"I win, Unca Ross!" Emma announced, smiling proudly as Ross congratulated her.

"That's, like, the third game in a row you've lost to her," Joey criticized him, asking, "Do you **not** know how to play or something?"

Rolling his eyes, Ross shot back, "I know how to play, Joe."

With only a brief knock first, the front door opened, Phoebe's head peeking in around the corner a second later. "Why is Monica's chain latched?" she asked, entering the apartment, the question directed, for the most part, towards Ross.

Throwing her a sideways glance and a smirk, he answered, "Why do you **think**?"

"Again?" she asked, shedding her coat and throwing it along with her purse, up on the foosball table.

Shaking his head, he told her, "Not **again**. **Still**. I called over there a little bit ago," he added, "She said they'd be up in about fifteen minutes."

"Which was **at least** fifteen minutes ago," Joey interjected, sounding annoyed.

Virtually ignoring Joey's apparent sour mood, Phoebe said to Ross, "Ya'know, I was thinking… Jack has Emma this afternoon."

"Yeah?" Ross' tone was obviously requesting elaboration on the point she was trying to make.

"What's to stop, **certain people**," she asked, sharply shifting her eyes towards Emma before looking back at him, "From telling him **certain facts**?"

"That's true," Ross agreed, "And it's not like we can ask her not to say anything. She doesn't understand the concept of that."

Nodding, she then asked, "So, what do you suppose we do?"

"It's not for **us** to decide," he answered staunchly. "We'll just, bring it up at breakfast, to Monica and Chandler," he suggested, "And see what **they** think."

"If we ever **get** breakfast," Joey mumbled, rubbing at his growling belly.

The short quiet knock caught their attention, all turning as the door opened, Rachel casually stepping inside.

"Hey, Joey, why is-?" Rachel stopped in mid-question, when she saw everyone staring back at her. "Oh. Everyone's over here."

"Not everyone," Phoebe told her, Ross adding, "Monica and Chandler are across the hall."

"Ahhh," Rachel sang with a smirk of understanding, "Which is why the door's chained."

"We were just discussing the whole 'tell the parents' dilemma," Phoebe explained, wanting to get Rachel's take on the situation. "That little factoid might get spilled by **someone**, while being watched today by **someone else**."

"Oh, that's right!" Rachel exclaimed as she quickly pieced together what Phoebe was saying. "J-A-C-K has her this afternoon!"

Phoebe nodded, then asked, "Can **you** watch her?"

"No," Rachel answered regretfully. "I have that tea thing with Barry and his parents at the country club!"

"Ross?" Phoebe asked, turning to face him.

"Working," he answered simply, his gaze immediately shifting to Joey. "What about you?"

"I have auditions," Joey returned with a shake of his head, adding as if it were a sudden revelation, "Maybe Chandler can watch her."

"He doesn't get off work till five," Ross countered, then spinning back around to Phoebe, asked, "You can't keep her a little longer today?"

"I have massage clients at three and four," she sighed, leaning against the foosball table as she informed the group, "I don't think **we're** going to be able to figure this out. We should just wait and talk to Monica and Chandler," she added, to which the others nodded in agreement.

The door across the hall opening abruptly startled the four adults, all watching as Chandler appeared in the doorway. Freezing in place when he saw that all eyes were on him, he offered a slight smile before announcing, "The kitchen is now open."

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Sorry this chapter took so long to get out… still in a bad place. Talking to an online friend helped a little though. Thanks, Venused!

This chapter seems subpar to me. Can't quite put my finger on why, but it does. Please, let me know if it is. Feedback is essential, when I'm doubting myself like this.

MTLBYAKY


	21. Chapter 20

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Twenty

**XXX**

--Before the four adults could even take a step towards the door, Emma was off her barstool and running into the hall, towards her apartment and Chandler. Launching into his arms, she immediately started in about her time with her uncle, from the beginning and sharing the events in chronological order.

Smiling in amusement, Chandler stepped into apartment twenty, being met by Monica near the dining table, a similar expression on her face.

"Rodda buyed me a didasaur toy from the gift shop! And then Unca Ross buyed me a cheeseburger happy meal at McDonalds! And then we took a _**cab**_ to his house! And then we played with his didasaur toys--"

"Artifacts," Ross corrected, adding sheepishly, "They're not toys, they're artifacts."

First shooting an amused look in Ross' direction, Monica smiled back at her daughter. "Continue," she told her, and Emma picked up where she left off enthusiastically.

Ross rolled his eyes at his sister's mocking glance, turning his attention to his three friends behind him, who instantly began communicating with him silently through animated expressions and hand gestures. It took a moment, but soon he realized what they were trying to convey. They wanted **him** to be the one to broach the subject they were previously discussing, with Monica and Chandler.

He shook his head firmly, then pointed at Rachel, who repeated the actions with her hands up, palms out, then stuck her finger back out towards him. Hands out in a 'why me?' gesture, he mouthed the words, 'I don't want to', then pointed at Phoebe.

Cocking her head to the side briefly, she began mouthing words and near flailing, the only thing discernible to him being the fact that Monica was his sister.

'So?' he challenged silently, arguing the point with inaudible words as he waggled his finger at the three of them in turn.

Joey scowled back, not really able to follow most of what was being said, then sliced his hands through the air to signal 'enough!', then pointed at Ross again. Phoebe and Rachel both joined him, all with stern expressions of their faces, and Ross glowered back for several seconds before relenting.

"And then I took a bath! And then I went to bed! And then I waked up! And then we took _**another cab**_ here! And then we played tic tac toe! And, can I want Poptarts? Did you buyed me Poptarts, Daddy?"

Not wanting to upset Monica by answering yes to her question, Chandler shifted his gaze off his daughter and onto his girlfriend, requesting guidance with a simple raise of his eyebrows.

"He did," Monica answered, "But **first**, you need to change your clothes, since you're wearing the same thing you had on yesterday."

As Chandler set her to the ground, she chirped, "K!" then quickly toddled off towards her room, mumbling something about her favorite purple dress.

"Get them out quick before she sees the hiding spot," Monica instructed, and in an almost comical, overly dramatic way, Chandler jumped and darted for the cupboard above the fridge, ripping into the box and snagging a foiled packet out before thrusting the box back where it came from and shutting the door abruptly.

Smirking at his actions, Monica stepped up to him, slowly taking the toaster pastries from his hand before brushing past him, smiling slyly back at him.

"Mon? We sorta need to talk to you," Ross stated softly, uncomfortable with breaking through the vibe Monica and Chandler were sharing.

Glancing back at him, she asked, "What about?" then pulled the toaster to the center of the counter and plugged it in.

"About you telling Mom and Dad about Chandler," he answered, shifting his eyes on Chandler briefly before dropping them to the ground.

Without hesitating in the slightest, she ripped into the Poptarts, sliding them into the toaster and pushing down the handle before turning to face her brother and friends. "Oookaaay…" She trailed off skeptically, the question in her tone giving him permission to continue.

"We think you should tell them, **soon**," he told her, reinitiating eye contact, staring intently to convey the importance of his words. "Dad has Emma today," he further explained, adding, "What if **she** tells him? What if **he** tells Mom? You're going to have a hard time getting her approval anyway. It'll be that much harder, if she gets the news without the facts."

As Ross spoke, Chandler moved to stand beside Monica, his arm encircling her waist when close enough to do so.

"Well, I agree," Monica said to him, returning Chandler's affection and support with the exact same gesture. "We **should** tell them soon. And we **will**. But, Dad won't be watching Emma today," she explained, then her gaze moved to Phoebe. "And we won't be needing you to watch her today, either." Off her friend's scowl of confusion, Monica announced, "Chandler is going to be watching her today."

"What about your job?" Joey asked, almost sounding concerned.

"I cashed in some paid personal days," Chandler answered, adding in explanation, "There's just **way** too much going on in my life right now, to concentrate on work."

Ross nodded in understanding, then asked Monica, "What are you going to tell Dad? For why you don't need him to watch her?"

Shrugging, she said, "I'll just tell him they switched my schedule around or something, and I have today off."

Just then, the Poptarts popped up in the toaster, and with hearing like a bat, Emma ran out of her room at the sound, one sock on, one sock off, her shoes in hand, straight for the table.

"Can I want chocolate milk, Mommy?" she asked, scooting up to the table, sitting up on her knees on the chair she bounced into, smiling up at her parents expectantly.

"We don't have chocolate milk, sweetie," Monica told her, smiling sympathetically, but Chandler immediately spoke up, almost interrupting.

"I have YooHoo across the hall," he offered, pointing towards his apartment, looking to Monica for permission to go get it; she nodded in answer, but Emma only scowled back at him.

"What's YooHoo?" she asked, to which Chandler jokingly acted shocked.

"It's like chocolate milk, Emma Lemma Ding Dong," he explained, stroking her hair in a loving fatherly way, "Only better."

The scowl left her face, making way for a smile. "K!"

"K!" Chandler repeated, kissing the top of her head before moving towards the door, tossing over his shoulder, "Be right back."

As Monica's attention diverted to the starting of breakfast, Ross slipped out the door and across the hall, quickly shutting the door and bringing Chandler, leaning into his fridge, into view.

"Dude, I need to talk to you for a sec," Ross said, and Chandler stood up, YooHoo in hand, a quizzical expression on his face.

"Alright," he returned, tossing the bottle of chocolate flavored beverage into the air, it making one rotation before landing back into his hand. "What's up?"

"I debated all night, whether or not to tell you this, man, but, I think there's something you should know," Ross told him, his jaw set as if under a great deal of stress.

"Sounds serious," Chandler ventured, his nerves setting him immediately on edge.

"It is," Ross confirmed, moving further into the apartment, leaning against the counter, his back to his friend. After gathering his thoughts, he spun around to face him, sighing deeply as he prepared himself. "Dude, my parents know you're Emma's father."

Shocked, Chandler stared back for several seconds, his eyes widening, then returning to normal size before he asked simply, "How?"

"Emma was born at seven pounds, two ounces!" he explained intensely. "There was **no way** she was premature! Which put her conception date at around Thanksgiving," he added, sounding calmer than before.

"Monica said--"

"Monica doesn't know," he cut Chandler off, sighing. "Everyone has just been going along with her Steven story, to keep the peace, basically."

Chandler dropped his eyes to the floor, a million thoughts bombarding his brain, and nearly as many questions. Finally, reinitiating eye contact, he asked, "They hate me, don't they?"

"No," Ross assured him, "They don't hate you. And even if they **did**, once you explain things, they'll understand."

"God!" Chandler groaned, beginning to pace, "I was already dreading telling them! Now, I don't even have the element of surprise!"

"We were all talking about it," Ross offered, putting his hand on Chandler's shoulder to stop his nervous actions, "And we think, it might be best, if we were **all** there, when you tell them."

Digesting those words for a moment, Chandler blinked several times in rapid succession, before finally asking, "You would **do** that?"

"Of course!" Ross shot back with a slight smile. "You're like a brother to me! Anything I can do, man, you know I will!"

"Do you think it'll help?" Chandler asked, almost wincing as he waited the two torturous seconds for the answer.

"Look," Ross answered, sounding completely confident, "My parents are reasonable people. We'll be there for moral support, but, you probably won't even need **that**. They'll be weird at first, but, once you explain things, they'll come around, ok? And, hey, if they get pissy, we'll be there to back you up."

Nodding in gratitude, Chandler muttered, "Thanks, man. I really appreciate that."

"No problem," Ross returned, wrapping him in a brief guy hug, "What are friends for?"

"Usually? For sticking me with the check when the bill comes," he returned sarcastically, smirking when Ross pulled away and stared back at him.

"Nice friends," he muttered, asking sympathetically, "Man, your life has just been **full** of woe, hasn't it?"

"Woe?" Chandler laughed, shaking his head, answering somberly, "It hasn't been too kind, that's for sure. I think God is making up for it now," he added, smiling slight, a far off look in his eyes that indicated he was in thought.

"You really love her, don't you?" Ross asked, pulling him out of his reverie.

"Yeah, man, I really do," he answered seriously, his tone leaving zero doubt of his sincerity.

The gentle knock and the door opening caught their attention, Monica's head appearing around the crack a second later. "What's taking you so long?" she asked, smiling as she added, "Emma wants to know where her _'Yahoo'_ is."

Chandler couldn't help but laugh, but the more serious expression Ross still wore brought him crashing back to reality quickly. "Got it," he said, holding up the bottle in his hand, then gesturing between himself and Ross with it, added, "We were just talking."

Ross tapped the YooHoo bottle before removing it from Chandler's possession, suggesting, "I'll take it to her, so you guys can talk."

The vibe in the room left Monica with the distinct impression that bad news was about to be shared, and she opened the door wider as Ross crossed the room, watching him leave silently before closing it and turning her undivided attention towards Chandler.

"What's going on?" she asked, a sense of dread rising in her throat like bile.

"Ross just clued me in on something," he told her in a soft, 'please don't panic' tone of voice, "And, I think we should discuss it."

"Ok," she replied anxiously, her arms snaking around herself protectively.

"Apparently," he said with a heavy sigh, "Your parents know I'm Emma's father."

Fear made way for shock, and her arms dropped to her side before asking sharply, "What? Says who?"

"Ross," he answered, as if that should have been obvious. "He just now told me," he added, moving slowly towards her, letting her know through body language that if she wanted him to, he would hold her.

"So, the whole 'Steven-one-night-stand' **thing** was for my benefit alone!" she snipped, not out of anger, but out of complete disbelief.

"Well, if it helps," he offered with slight sarcasm, trying to lighten her distress, "Joey believed you."

She smirked, then accepted his arms around her, sighing as she asked, "What now?"

"Nothing's changed," he whispered consolingly, resting his cheek atop her head. "We were going to tell them **anyway**. Just, now, we don't have the element of surprise, is all."

"I'm off on Friday," she muttered into his chest. "We'll tell them then. I'll invite them over for dinner."

Nodding, he told her, "Ross said he wants to be there, and the others as well. For moral support," he added, kissing her hair, asking, "Ok?"

"That's fine," she said, asking, "Can you watch Emma tomorrow, too?"

"Of course," he returned instantly, pulling away enough to smile back at her, "She's my daughter!"

**XXX**

--Emma was flying in six directions at once, but Chandler only laughed as he struggled to keep up with her.

"My God you're hyper today, Emma Lemma!" he breathed, panting as he snatched her off the chair she had been bouncing on, twirling with her before dropping her carefully and playfully onto the sofa. "I see now why your mommy doesn't want you eating too many sweets!"

"Let's play horsey!" she requested excitedly, pointing at the floor as she demanded, "You be on hands and knees!"

"Oh, God," he groaned, laughing as he asked of her, "Can I catch my breath first?"

She nodded as she stood up on the couch, hopping a few times before leaping to the coffee table, dancing on it spastically.

Chandler just watched her, smiling, leaning back against the couch cushions as he ran his hand through his hair. "Poptarts are evil," he muttered to himself, then, resigned to his fate, pushed off the couch in preparation of playing horsey. The knock at the door stopped him from his descent to the floor, and he wrapped his arm around Emma and pulled her from the coffee table as he headed for it.

Turning the knob, he yanked it open without concern or thought, only to be faced with a surprised expression, held by the proud man standing in front of him.

"Mr. Geller?" Chandler squeaked out, setting Emma to the ground when she started to squirm for release.

"Papa!" Emma shouted, jumping into his arms; the man gathered her and held her to him, but his eyes never left Chandler.

"Where's Monica?" Jack asked, and for a brief moment, Chandler thought he might not have recognized him.

"Her work needed her after all," Chandler explained carefully, stepping back, asking, "You wanna come in?"

Nodding, Jack moved inside, his granddaughter still in his arms. Once near the couch, he said to her in a soft higher-than-usual tone, "If you find me a quarter, I'll show you a magic trick!"

As he set Emma down, she chirped with delight, announcing, "Mommy's got a change jar!" She immediately ran for Monica's room, leaving the two men alone, though they knew it wouldn't be for long.

"What are you doing here, Chandler?" he asked, sounding just as surprised as angry.

"Sir," Chandler said in a respectful nervous tone, "There's a lot to explain, and I know you must be upset, and confused, but we **were** planning on telling you! You **and** your wife! On Friday!"

"So, that's why she invited us to dinner," he muttered, almost to himself, and Chandler nodded in response.

"I think we should all be together, when we explain this," he told him, adding, "And it **can** be explained, but, for **now**, can I just ask that you, **not** tell your wife?"

Grimacing as he awaited the man's response, he could've sworn he saw the hint of a smirk pull at his lips.

"Alright," Jack agreed, adding to the deal, "As long as **you** don't tell her I knew before she did."

Smiling slight, Chandler nodded and extended his hand, which Jack took easily, and without hesitation.

"Papa!" Emma exclaimed as she bounded out of her mother's room, "I found a quote-o!"

Jack's undivided attention was on her in an instant, smiling proudly as he took the quarter, said a few made-up magic words, then proceeded to pretend to pull the coin from his grandchild's ear.

Emma clapped wildly, shouting, "Do it again, Papa!" while Chandler stood back and watched, amazed by the love exhibited between them.

Having nothing like that growing up, never having known his grandparents, he was moved almost to tears by the display, and in an attempt to get his emotions in check, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and stepped several paces back, his gaze dropping to the floor as a way of distancing himself emotionally, as well as physically.

Noticing this, Jack stood from where he had been kneeling and approached him, placing his hand on Chandler's shoulder as he asked, "She's amazing, isn't she?"

Chandler nodded, choking out, "And I've missed **so** much. I just don't want to miss any more."

"Good," Jack returned, giving his back a hearty slap before moving towards the fridge, asking, "What does Monica have to eat around here?"

Realizing he was attempting to change the mood, Chandler followed, telling him, "Well, I know she has sandwich stuff, but other than that…"

"Papa!" Emma called to him, approaching, "I can't fit the quote-o in my ear!"

Laughing, Jack said sotto to Chandler, "And that's why I don't use pennies! Did that once when Monica was her age. We had to rush her to the emergency room."

As Chandler laughed, Jack told her, "You can't put them **in**, Mini! You can only take them **out**! And only by _**magic**_!"

"Mini?" Chandler asked, and Jack smiled over at him.

"She's like a mini version of Monica," he explained, adding, "I've called her that, since she was a week old."

"Hey, ya'know, I could use your advice on something," Chandler said, attempting to bond as well as gain insight. If Jack was in his corner on Friday, he figured, things would go much smoother.

"What's that?" Jack asked, opening the refrigerator and leaning in to investigate the contents.

"I think I made a mistake, giving Emma Poptarts for a snack, especially after she had them for breakfast. She's completely wired now! How do I **fix** that?" he asked, glancing over to see that Emma was leaping from couch, to coffee table, to chair, in a constant circle; he gestured towards her in emphasis.

Laughing, Jack told him, "There's no sure fire way, but, the best thing you can do for her, is get protein into her. Does Monica have any turkey?"

"I think so," Chandler answered, adding, "Lunch meat, I think."

Rummaging, Jack found the item he referred to, then grabbed a package of cheese right next to it. "Mini! Come see Papa for a minute!"

Emma jumped off the coffee table with flair, then ran into the kitchen, asking, "What, Papa?"

"I want you to eat a little snack for me," he said as he took a slice of meat, a slice of cheese, then rolled them together. "It's a **roller coaster**!" he exclaimed, making it sound far more exciting than it actually was. It worked, however, because Emma excitedly took it from his hands and immediately began chomping into it.

"Thanks, Mr. Geller," Chandler said to him gratefully. "I'm afraid I don't know much about being a father. Yet."

"That's ok," Jack laughed, "Most men **don't**, till they're faced with it. You're doing fine. And, please," he requested kindly, "Call me Jack."

**XXX**

--Resting his head against the back of the couch, Chandler sprawled out, his feet up on the coffee table, his arms out along the cushion behind him; he was exhausted. From dealing with hyper Emma, to bonding with Jack, he was physically and mentally drained, but when Monica waltzed through the door at ten till nine, he was up in a flash, greeting her with a kiss, his excitement obvious, and contagious.

"What's going on?" Monica asked with a smile, hanging her coat and purse before allowing Chandler to take her hand and lead her to the livingroom.

"Oh my God, Monica, you are **not** going to believe this!" he announced, urging her to sit and taking a seat beside her. "You are **never** going to guess who I spent the afternoon with!"

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Doing a little better now. Thanks to everyone, for your kind words and well wishes. And a special thanks to Kristy and Oliver. Our chats helped more than you know, and I greatly appreciate it!

I'm thinking about two more chapters, and then an epilogue, but it could end up being 3 and an epilogue. We'll see how things go.

Mondler tribute for season 8 is up on YouTube, username: Janaonwheels. Working on season 9 tribute now… need songs for this! One from a male artist, one from a female. I'm hoping for songs that capture the theme of the season. Them becoming strong in their marriage, and the trying for the baby heartaches. Please, any ideas will be considered! Don't be shy! Speak right up!

And, please review! It really means a great deal to me. Thanks.

MTLBYAKY


	22. Chapter 21

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Twenty-One

**XXX**

--Resting his head against the back of the couch, Chandler sprawled out, his feet up on the coffee table, his arms out along the cushion behind him; he was exhausted. From dealing with hyper Emma, to bonding with Jack, he was physically and mentally drained, but when Monica waltzed through the door at ten till nine, he was up in a flash, greeting her with a kiss, his excitement obvious, and contagious.

"What's going on?" Monica asked with a smile, hanging her coat and purse before allowing Chandler to take her hand and lead her to the livingroom.

"Oh my God, Monica, you are **not** going to believe this!" he announced, urging her to sit and taking a seat beside her. "You are **never** going to guess who I spent the afternoon with!"

Almost laughing, she joked, "Well, I'm gonna guess Emma."

With a smirk, he scowled back at her. "Well, yeah! Her, too! But, no." His smile grew wider, pausing before finally blurting out the answer. "Your **dad**!"

"Oh my God!" she shot back instantly, not at all happy as he was, but rather completely shocked. "What happened? What did you tell him? What did he say?"

Mood remaining despite her reaction, he said, "I only told him that we planned to tell them on Friday, and asked that he **not** tell your mom, which he agreed to, no problem. The rest of the day, we just talked about Emma, and **you**! He asked me about my job, and where I'm living now, but other than that, we really didn't talk about **me** at all!"

"It was just **so** great!" he continued enthusiastically. "We **totally** bonded! I actually think I might have a shot at **not** being hated by them," he added, calming slightly, leaning in to kiss her lips softly and briefly.

Forcing a smile to her face, she spoke gently to him, as if it pained her to sully his joy. "I'm glad you had a good time with him, Chandler, and, I'm not trying to be a wet blanket here, but, Dad was never the concern. I **knew** Dad would be ok with all this. I mean, I'm a little surprised he's **so** ok with things, having **not** heard the facts," she added, "And the reasons why you left before, but, he's not the one I'm worried about. Mom…" She trailed off as a frown started to take the place of his smile, his body slumping slightly.

"She'll come around, Chandler, don't worry," she assured him, placing her hand on his knee. "It'll take some time, and she'll probably snub you for a bit, but, she'll eventually come around. When I first told her I was pregnant, she gave me the silent treatment for three weeks! Then, she just, got on board. Took me to appointments, took me shopping. Gave me advice. She can be a stubborn woman at times, but she's not, like, evil or anything."

"Speaking of evil," Chandler changed the subject, "Poptarts **are**!"

Laughing, she asked, "Are what? Evil?"

"Yeah! I made the mistake of giving Emma Poptarts for a snack, and she was wired half the day! Jack fixed it, though," he added, a slight grin returning.

"Jack?" she asked, surprised to hear him call her father by his first name, adding with curiosity, "And fixed it **how**?"

"He gave her a turkey and cheese roll-up, kind of thing," he answered, smiling. "Took about twenty/thirty minutes, but she **finally** calmed down. And he **asked me** to call him Jack!" he reported proudly.

Grinning back at him over his genuine enthusiasm, she shifted her position, slowly climbing into his lap, her legs crossed over to the left of him, her head resting against his shoulder as she snuggled into him. Responding immediately, he wrapped his right arm around her as his left hand moved to dance across her thigh, caressing her.

"It's important to you, isn't it?" she asked, cautiously quiet, "That my parents like you?"

"Well," he returned with a slight bite in his sarcasm, "It'd be nice if **someone****'s** parents did."

"You **do** realize, don't you, that, even if my mom **hates** you, it won't change how **I** feel about you, right?"

Turning his head, he brushed a soft kiss against her forehead before nuzzling into her hair, whispering, "I do."

"Good." There was a long moment of comfortable silence before she spoke again, asking, "Will you stay with me tonight?"

Smiling, he whispered, "I was hoping you would ask. It won't traumatize Emma, will it?" he asked, a seriousness edging his words, "If I'm here in the morning?"

"No," she assured him, inching away from his body just enough to gaze back at him, her hand cupping his face, "It won't traumatize her. It might **me** though, if you **don't** stay," she added, leaning towards him; the way she was staring at his lips left him with zero doubt to what her intentions were.

"Yes, well, we don't want **that**, do we?" he asked in a soft murmur, making no attempt to meet her, only watching as she drifted closer.

Hair grazing her shoulders as she slowly shook her head, she hovered over him, whispering teasingly, "No, we don't." When her lips finally touched his, they kissed with a gentle urgency, her breaking away a minute later, breathlessly asking, "Is Emma asleep yet?"

He nodded, smiling as he added with an almost fatherly pride, "She was when I checked on her last, about thirty-five minutes ago."

The way he beamed caused her to smile wide back at him. "What did she have for dinner?"

"The only thing I know how to make **well**," he answered. "Mac-n-Cheese with cut up hotdogs."

Grimacing slightly at the somewhat unhealthy meal he'd served their daughter, she wiped the expression from her face, then asked, "Did you give her a bath?"

His happier demeanor slipped away slowly, a look of unease in his bright blue eyes as he shook his head. "Um, no. Sorry. I didn't."

There was something complex hiding within his simple answer, and she offered a sympathetic head-tilt as she asked, "Why not?"

After an extended silence, his eyes diverted, he eventually explained, "She's a **girl**. I'm a **guy**. It seemed… inappropriate."

For the first time, and she was certain it wouldn't be the last, she was seeing the effects his upbringing had on him, with regard to raising their child, and she wrapped her arms around him in response, offering him consoling affection.

"It's not inappropriate, Chandler," she whispered, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "You're her **father**," she told him, with a sort of kind sternness. "Dressing and bathing her is in the job description."

"Maybe if I'd been with her since birth," he muttered sadly, "I wouldn't feel like this. But, I haven't been. I **just** met her, and, I just- It just, doesn't seem right, to see her like that. In that… state of undress. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," she assured him, tightening her embrace of him. "In time, as you get to know her, and become comfortable in the role, you'll see there's nothing wrong with it."

"Maybe," he returned with a shrug, sighing in frustration as much as arousal, her light strokes up into his hair engaging him. "Maybe we should peek in on her," he suggested, his voice weak and unsteady, "Make sure she's asleep. Tuck her in. Then, maybe, we could retire to the bedroom?" he asked, hopeful, brushing his lips lightly across her neck and shoulder.

"I **love** that idea," she said as she pulled back, lacing her fingers together behind his neck, adding in a near-whisper, "And I love **you**."

Slipping his hand under her knees, at the crook of them, he gathered her to him, struggling to leave the couch with her in his arms, kissing her as soon as he was standing. Their lips never parted as he carefully released her legs, holding her tight to him with his right hand, allowing her to slide down him till her feet found the ground.

"I love you, too," he whispered, only breaking the kiss long enough to say those words, his lips back on hers as soon as he uttered them.

Affections intensifying, need grew, physically and emotionally, and he cradled her head in his hand as he inched towards Emma's room, his shin catching the coffee table as he tried to round it blindly.

"Ouch," he grumbled against her lips, his kisses turning to soft, brief, frequent pecks as he shuddered in pain.

Smiling, not that she wasn't sympathetic, she asked between pecks, "Are – You – O - K?"

"I'll – Live," he answered in similar fashion, planting one last kiss, which was only slightly longer than the other quick ones, before backing away from her, stating, "I just need to watch where I'm going, is all."

"A little hard to do, when your face is attached to mine," she laughed, and he smirked back at her for the quip.

"Being attached to you, in **any** way, has been the highlight of my life," he told her, his jovial expression disappearing at the first syllable, a deeply in love intensity shining in his eyes. "Hands. Lips. Bodies. Souls."

"Wow," she whispered, in awe, "That was so romantic. And a little bit cheesy," she added, grinning slight, stepping into his embrace.

"Well, then, I guess **now** there's a million and **one** kinds of cheese on the planet," he joked back, leaning into her, his body pressing against hers as his arms snaked around her waist. Nuzzling the soft spot just behind her ear, he whispered, "I think I'll call myself Chandlerella."

"I just got a mental image of you sitting butt-naked on top of a pizza," she laughed, causing him to pull back; his return expression could only be described as mock-horror.

"Hope we're laughing at that image because of **where** I'm seated, and not at the butt-naked part," he jokingly scolded, his eyebrows raised in request of assurances.

"Nothing to laugh at **there**, **believe** me!" she insisted, smiling as she stroked his face with the back of her index finger. "Let's go tuck our daughter in," she suggested with a sly grin. "The sooner we get **that** accomplished, the sooner we can move on to the love-making portion of the evening."

Nodding, he kissed her softly, then gestured towards Emma's bedroom door, following Monica in when she inched it open and pushed inside.

Sleeping soundly, her hair wild against the pillow her head rested upon, her tiny limbs exposed from under the blanket; her parents smiled down on her before turning to each other.

"She wanted to wear her _Little Mermaid_ pajamas to bed," he whispered, adjusting the matching themed comforter so that it covered all of her, adding, "I hope that's ok."

Monica nodded, slipping her arm around his waist, leaning towards him and whispering, "You did a fantastic job with her today, Chandler. Thank you."

"I had the **best** time with her," he admitted, moving to Emma's side, brushing her hair back from her face, kissing her cheek carefully, so as not to wake her.

When he inched out of the way, Monica stepped up to the bed, planting a gentle kiss atop her daughter's head, smirking when she stretched in her sleep contentedly.

"Is she out for the night, do you think?" he asked, smiling when she nodded slowly. "So, I guess we're free to move on to, **other** activities?"

Without responding directly, she took his hand, and he laced his fingers with hers as he allowed her to lead him out of the room, following silently. Once out in the livingroom, he pulled her to him, his free hand cradling the back of her head as he urgently kissed her.

"I've been thinking about this moment all day," she admitted with a heavy desire-laden sigh. "I could barely concentrate."

"Do you want me, Monica?" he asked her breathlessly, his lips traveling down her neck to her shoulder; even his kisses above fabric excited her.

"**God**, yes," she moaned, leaning into him for support as her body became weak.

She whimpered as he scooped her into his arms, clinging to him as he carried her into her room, laying her gently on her bed before climbing in beside her.

"How do you do it?" she whispered as his hands began exploring and stroking her, almost reverently. "How do you make every touch feel like the first?"

"I don't know," he whispered back, "But I'm glad for it."

"You are?" she asked, and felt him nod as he nuzzled into her hair, his fingers inching under the hem of her shirt. "Why?"

"Your pleasure, your happiness, is important to me," he answered, his lips close enough to her skin so that she could feel the words being formed as he spoke. "And if **I** can be the one to give you those things, all the better."

"I feel like I'm in the middle of a romance novel," she mused aloud, her mind only partially on what she was saying as he continued arousing her. "This kind of thing doesn't happen to real people, in real life, does it?"

"It never has in mine," he said softly against her lips, adding with a whisper of a smile on his face, "Until now."

"Until now," she repeated, welcoming his kiss, her fingers nimbly working the latch of his belt buckle, grinning as he shifted positions to give her better access. "Do you want me, Chandler?" she asked, mirroring his earlier sentiment towards her.

"**God**, yes," he breathed, adding as he pushed her shirt up to her neck, dipping his head to taste her skin, "Forever."

**XXX**

--The sound of the quiet persistent knock at the door, eventually ripped Chandler from his dreams, bolting upright as he realized what he was hearing.

"Monica?" he whispered, bushing her bare shoulder gently. "I think Emma's knocking."

"K," Monica muttered, stretching languidly. "Get it."

"Me?" he asked, concern in his tone. "Do you think that's wise?"

She smirked, her eyes remaining closed. "Well, put some clothes on first. But, yeah, it's fine."

Following her on the matter, he shrugged as he climbed out of bed, grabbing his boxers and pants off the floor and quickly stepping into them before rushing to the door. Her bright face came into view as it opened, and she smiled as she squealed in delight.

"Daddy! I'm hungry!" she announced, then grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the bed, where she immediately threw herself, dragging him with. "Mommy! Wake up! I'm hungry!"

Laughing, Monica gathered her daughter to her side, tweaking one eye open as she told her, "Give me a minute, sweetie. My eyes are still glued shut."

"No they're not!" Emma scoffed with a chuckle, placing her fingers on Monica's eyelids, trying to pry them open. "Daddy! Help Mommy open her eyes!"

The scene was just so sweet, Chandler couldn't help but smile. "There's a trick to it," he told her, like it was a secret he was sharing with her. Then, leaning in, he kissed each of Monica's eyelids; her eyes immediately popped open.

"You did it!" Emma exclaimed excitedly, bouncing up and down on the bed, on her knees. "Mommy! Can I want Poptarts?"

Monica shook her head in answer, adding with a grin, "Poptarts are evil, apparently."

Scowling, Emma said with authority, "Not evil! Cherry!"

"You know what, Emma Lemma?" Chandler chimed in, scooting off the bed and grabbing his shirt, throwing it on quickly before continuing. "Let's let Mommy sleep for a few more minutes, and **I'll** make you breakfast, ok?"

"Poptarts?" she asked optimistically, to which Chandler gave her a jokingly scolding look.

"If your Mommy says no to something, then my answer is no, too."

When she pouted, he laughed and lifted her into his arms, adjusting her to his hip as he headed for the door; he smiled back at Monica as he left through it and closed it softly.

"How about toast with jelly and scrambled eggs?" he suggested; she immediately smiled in return.

"Grape jelly?" she requested, adding, "Trawberry seeds hurt my teeth!"

"Mine, too," he agreed, heading for the kitchen, setting her in a dining chair once there. "Grape jelly it is!"

Hearing the muffled sounds of their conversation, and cupboard doors and drawers opening and closing, Monica smiled as she allowed her mind to drift. Sometime in the future, she could see herself married to Chandler, in a beautiful house in the suburbs, Emma and maybe even a little brother, sitting at the table, finishing up homework as she cooked dinner, Chandler entering and kissing her hello after coming home from work. The image playing out in her head made her smile wider.

The knock on her front door pulled her from her thoughts moments later, and her ears perked, straining to listen as Chandler answered it, trying to determine who it was. It was a male voice, she could tell that much, but with their voices lowered, she was unable to ascertain if it was Ross or Joey. Or someone else, though she couldn't imagine it was.

"Monica?" It was Chandler's voice, calling to her from a distance; she guessed he was back in the kitchen. "Your brother is here."

That was no surprise. He was usually the first one there. "I'll be right out!" she called back, then forced herself to leave the warm comfortable bed.

"My dad called me last night," Ross stated hesitantly, wanting to broach the subject cautiously.

"Yeah?" Chandler returned absently, his mind on the eggs cooking in front of him.

"Yeah. He said you guys spent some time together yesterday?" The question mark on the end brought Chandler's attention around to him.

"Is that a problem?" Chandler asked, confused by Ross' demeanor.

"No. Not exactly," Ross muttered, slipping out of his coat and hanging it on one of the hooks by the door before continuing. "There was, some things that were said. Implied." He sighed deeply before finally asking, "What exactly did you guys talk about yesterday?"

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Seems like it's getting longer and longer between updates, doesn't it? Sorry about that. Was starting to get a little better, then life handed me another pile of crap to deal with. Including, but not limited to: my daughter's pet rat died, my 10 year old pet cockatiel died, and a friend of my daughter's stole my sons' power cords to their game system. I can't afford to buy them new cords! And now they're crying and stuff! God, just rips my heart out!

I'm thinking I need two more chapters to wrap this up, then, an epilogue. So, three more total from here. Sick of me predicting yet?

Then, I **will** be continuing with 'The One With The Breakup'. I know I said it was possibly a 'one-shot' fic, but, that 'possibly' turned into a 'not so much'. I can't leave it there. It will be 5 chapters, and they are already outlined. I won't be actually writing it though, until this one is done. I don't want to split my focus.

Mondler season 9 tribute is up on YouTube, username: janaonwheels – I also put up a slideshow video thing of the 'A Baby Story' episode my youngest son was born on, with family pics tacked on to the end. If you're interested. Did it for a friend :waving at Kristy:

Ok, so, please review, and MTLBYAKY


	23. Chapter 22

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Twenty-Two

**XXX**

--Chandler stared back for a moment, confused, briefly running over all parts of the several conversations he'd had with Jack the previous day, trying to decide if anything negative was said to him or from him. Removing the eggs from the heat, so they wouldn't burn, he finally muttered, "We talked about Emma, mostly, and a little about Monica. Like, how she was growing up, and how worried she was, when Emma got pneumonia last year. Other than **that**," he added, grabbing the loaf of bread off the shelf above him and reaching in to grab a couple slices, "Not much more was said. Why?" he asked, sliding the bread into the toaster and pressing the handle down, "What did **he** say we talked about?"

"He didn't go into detail," Ross answered, glancing at Monica's closed bedroom door before adding, "But, he said something that made me think."

Chandler scowled at the circles the conversation was going in, sighing as he moved to the fridge to grab the jar of jelly. "Ross, just tell me what this is all about," he requested, slightly exasperated, returning to the counter near the stove and setting the glass jar down firmly. If Jack secretly confided in Ross that he disliked him, he wanted to know.

"He said…" Ross trailed off, sighing deeply before staring at his friend straight on. "He said, it was amazing how good you were with Emma, since your parents basically dropped the ball, when it came to raising **you**."

Chandler's scowl deepened, the implication as Ross saw it starting to sink in.

"Did you talk about that with him?" Ross finally asked, when the silence continued for several awkward seconds.

"No," Chandler told him, turning towards the sound of the toast popping up. Numbly, he grabbed a knife and a plate, spreading jelly on bread absently as he considered the possibilities. "**You** didn't say anything to him, did you?" he asked, scooping eggs onto the plate, then handing it over to his daughter.

"Thank you, Daddy," she said politely, starting in on the toast first as Chandler moved to get her a fork.

"You're welcome, Emma Lemma," he returned with a smile, setting the fork beside her plate before stroking her hair. Then, turning again towards Ross, asked further, "Like, back in college? You didn't say anything to your parents, did you? About the stuff I told you in confidence?"

"No," Ross assured him, asking carefully, "Maybe Monica said something to him?"

Shaking his head, Chandler informed him, "She didn't know anything about my past, really, till two days ago."

Always trying to be logical, Ross suggested, "Maybe I'm just reading too much into his words. Ya'know? Maybe he's just **assuming** your childhood wasn't the best, cause you spent two Thanksgivings in a row with **us**, instead of your own family."

"Maybe," Chandler muttered, in thought, adding a moment later, "Let's just keep this between us, ok? Monica has had enough stress, when it comes to me and all this. She doesn't need more added. Besides," he offered, gesturing at nothing as he swept his hand through the air, "It was probably like you said! Just an assumption or something, right?"

Ross forced a smile, for Chandler's sake, agreeing for the sake of his friend's peace of mind. "Yeah, ya'know, that's probably what it was, now that I think of it. Sorry I even brought it up."

"Hey, no problem," Chandler accepted the apology with a nod, moving to grab a plate so that he could dish himself up the remaining eggs in the frying pan.

"I smell food," Joey announced as he entered abruptly, startling when he saw Chandler in the kitchen and no sign of Monica. "You're cooking?" he asked, causing Chandler to stop in mid-task.

"You don't have to sound so surprised," he answered, adding, "Or was that disappointment?"

Shrugging, Joey asked, "Where's Mon? And, can I have some of those?" He peered into the frying pan, then looked up at Chandler hopefully.

Smirking, Chandler sighed, pushed the rest of the eggs onto the plate, then handed it over to Joey. "Here. I'll make more," he muttered, smiling over at Ross when Joey snatched the plate excitedly and took a seat at the table.

Glancing over at Emma's plate, Joey asked in a near-whine, "I don't get toast and jelly?"

Ross rolled his eyes, suggesting to Chandler, "I'll get the toast, you get the eggs."

With a nod of approval, Chandler grabbed the carton of eggs from off the counter near the sink and started cracking several into the bowl that he had used earlier. "Hey," he spoke up after a few moments of silence, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," Ross returned easily, his attention half divided by the task he had assigned himself.

"Do you have… **issues**, with, bathing Emma?"

"Issues?" Ross asked, somewhat confused. "What kind of issues?"

Chandler cleared his throat, glancing back at his daughter, his eyes shifting briefly in Joey's direction before answering. "You know, cause, she's a girl, and you're a guy? Are you… **comfortable** enough, to, bathe her?"

The bread well on its way to being toasted, Ross turned fully to face him, and Chandler did the same, the bowl in his hand as he beat the eggs briskly with a fork.

"No, it's not something I have issues with," Ross told him, suspecting why he was asking, adding, "You want some help on that?"

"Yeah," Chandler answered, relieved. "Maybe you could come by after work?"

"Sure," Ross agreed, smiling back at him reassuringly. "No problem."

"We got an ETA on the toast?" Joey asked, his eggs gone, his fork tapping on the plate impatiently.

"You've got a one-track mind, Joe," Ross scoffed, turning just as the toast popped up, quickly tending to it.

Chuckling to himself, Chandler busied himself with the frying pan once again, only glancing back at the sound of Monica's bedroom door opening.

"Smells good," she announced as she headed straight for the kitchen, straight for Chandler.

"Want some?" he asked, smiling over at her as she stepped up beside him.

"Sure. Thanks," she said, sliding her arm around his waist, resting her hand on the hip opposite her as she leaned against him.

"Can I watch cartoons?" Emma asked, calling Monica's attention; she gasped as she looked over at her.

The jelly from her toast was all over her face, a little in her hair, and was completely coating her fingers and hands.

"What did you do, Emma?" Monica asked, approaching her quickly, "**Eat** the toast or attempt to **wear** it?"

"Huh?" she asked with a scowl of confusion, allowing her mother to help her off the seat by way of gripping her wrists and holding her sticky hands in the air.

"You need a bath anyway," Monica said with a laugh, marching with her towards the bathroom, muttering over her shoulder, "Be right back."

"Don't let Joey eat the eggs," Chandler asked of Ross sotto, adding, "I need to ask Monica something."

Smirking, Ross muttered sarcastically, "I'm only one man."

Smiling at the quip as he walked away, Chandler stepped up to the bathroom door, knocking quietly and asking through it, "Hey, Monica, can I… come in?"

"Sure," she answered back, slipping the nightshirt back into position on Emma, knowing he would be uncomfortable if he walked in on her in nothing but her underwear.

Peeking in cautiously, once he saw that his daughter was fully dressed, he entered, asking loud enough to be heard over the sound of the running water, "I was wanting to run something by you?"

"Sure," she returned easily, testing the temperature of the water before engaging the plug. "What's up?"

"It's about… today? You said I should run plans by you **first**, before mentioning them in front of--" He stopped abruptly, then glanced pointedly at Emma before reinitiating eye contact.

Catching on, Monica nodded, then said, "Just let me get her going here, and then I'll be right out, k?"

Exiting the bathroom, Chandler stood just outside the door, smiling sheepishly back at Ross as he looked over at him questioningly. "Just waiting for her to get Emma in the tub," he explained his actions, to which Ross nodded in understanding.

"Morning!" Phoebe exclaimed as she entered the apartment; taking in her surroundings, she immediately noticed Chandler standing at the bathroom door. "Is there a line?" she joked, laughing to herself before moving to hang her coat and purse up.

Chandler shook his head, informing her, "Monica's bathing Emma."

Staring back for a moment, Phoebe suggested, "Why don't you just use **your** bathroom across the hall?"

"I don't have to go to the bathroom," he told her with a smirk. "I'm just waiting for Monica."

"Ah," she returned with a nod, her focus moving to Ross in the kitchen as he dished up eggs onto his plate. "Eggs?" she asked simply, which brought his attention over to her as he froze in movement.

"No," he answered, deadpan, "We cooked up some sponges."

As Chandler laughed, Monica stepped out of the bathroom, smiling as she asked, "What's so funny?"

"Ross," Chandler answered, then asked, "Would it be ok if I took Emma to the park today?"

"Sure," she said softly, lacing her fingers with his; he brought their linked hands to his lips and kissed the back of hers.

"Don't worry," he assured her, "I'll watch her carefully."

"I know," she whispered, repeating his gesture by kissing his hand before releasing it, smiling back at him as she rounded the door to reenter the bathroom, not wanting to leave her daughter unattended for long.

Quickly looking away as Chandler turned towards the kitchen, Phoebe hid a smile, announcing to Ross as if she hadn't been staring at the two new lovers, "Rachel called this morning… she can't come by today. She's caught up with Barry troubles again."

"Uh-oh," Ross asked with concern, "What happened?"

"Not sure," she answered, adding, "But they had one doozy of a fight last night, apparently."

"If they're having **this** many problems before they even **get** married, they probably shouldn't be," Ross offered with a sigh, to which Phoebe nodded in agreement.

"**She** won't call it off though," Phoebe surmised, spreading jelly on her newly ejected toast. "And if **he** doesn't, it'll take a major epiphany for her to walk away."

"If Phoebe's not eating eggs, can I have hers?" Joey asked, receiving a slight glare from Ross in response.

"I didn't make Phoebe eggs," Chandler announced as he entered the kitchen, grabbing himself a plate from off the shelf.

"If Mon doesn't want **hers**, can I have **hers**?" he whined, almost pouting.

"She's going to want her eggs, Joe," Ross told him firmly, grabbing a cereal box off the top of the fridge and thrusting it into his possession, adding, "If you're still hungry, eat **this**."

"Does everyone call her 'Mon'?" Chandler asked out of nowhere, and everyone's divided attention focused on him instantly.

"Pretty much," Phoebe answered, asking, "You're just now noticing?"

"No," he said as he took a seat across from Joey at the table, "I noticed **you** guys did, just, didn't know if that was a group thing, or a nickname."

"Both, I think," Phoebe said, sitting to the left of him with her toast.

"I think some of her coworkers call her Mon," Ross chimed in, adding, "And I **know** Pete called her that."

"Why?" Joey asked, grabbing a handful of cereal out of the box and cramming it into his mouth crudely.

Shrugging, Chandler muttered, "Just curious."

"I'm not doing anything till three this afternoon," Phoebe changed subjects, asking Chandler, "Want some company at the park?"

"Was kinda hoping to have, just, some Daddy/daughter time," he declined with a remorseful smile, adding, "Maybe another time?"

"Sure!" she exclaimed, then asked Joey, "Wanna catch a movie or something?"

"Broke," he answered with a crooked smile and a shrug.

"My treat?" she offered, almost singing the words.

"Can I get popcorn and Twizzlers?" he asked hopefully, his smile widening when she nodded. "Let's go see what's playing!" he announced, standing and heading for the door.

"Joe?" Chandler called out to him, and he stopped his departure short and turned. "The movie theaters aren't going to be open yet."

"I know that," Joey scoffed, his brow furrowed as if annoyed. "The newsstand is though!"

"He's got me there," Chandler conceded, the comment directed at Ross, who smiled back at him before moving to rinse his plate at the sink.

As Phoebe grabbed her coat and purse, she suggested, "Let's meet at the coffeehouse later, guys, ok? To discuss the game plan for tomorrow."

Ross and Chandler both agreed with muttered words before Phoebe and Joey disappeared out the door.

"Speaking of," Ross broached the topic, "Any clue what you're going to say?"

Shaking his head, Chandler told him, "I was going to give it some thought today, then run the ideas by Monica tonight."

"**I** can help, if you want," Ross offered as he headed for the hooks by the door. "We can run a few ideas around when I come by after work."

"Hey, yeah, thanks," Chandler accepted, seeing him to the door, adding, "And thanks for helping me with Emma."

"No problem," he said, moving to open the door, requesting, "Tell Mon I said bye, k?"

"No problem." As soon as he closed the door, he turned to survey the breakfast mess left, wincing as he did. "Yikes," he said to no one, then quickly stepped up to start cleaning; he startled when the bathroom door opened, revealing a wet Emma, wrapped in a towel, and an even wetter Monica, following close behind.

"Where'd everyone go?" she asked, still following her daughter as she shuffled towards her room.

"Work, newspaper hunting," he answered, adding with sarcasm, "Fleeing the scene of the mess they created."

She laughed, offering, "I'll help as soon as I get her dressed. And me **re**dressed," she added with smirk and a roll of her eyes; his grin widened at her humor, nodding in acceptance.

The day was shaping up to be a busy one.

**XXX**

--Chandler shifted Emma to his left hip as he approached the coffeehouse doors, yanking one open and rushing inside to leave the cold wind behind them.

"Some hot cocoa will warm you up," he assured her, setting her to the floor before unzipping and removing her coat. "But after **this**," he added, "It's naptime. Deal?"

"K!" she chirped, running to and jumping onto the orange couch, bouncing a few times in place as Chandler moved to sit beside her.

"Hey, Emma," Gunther greeted her as stepped up to take their order, turning his eyes towards Chandler with pencil at the ready. "What can I get for you?"

"I'll have a cappuccino," Chandler told him, "And Emma would like a hot cocoa."

"With an ice cube?" Gunther asked her, and she smiled and nodded sharply in return.

"Daddy?" she asked Chandler, "Can I want a muffin?"

Wincing slightly at the request, he asked the pale-haired man with the notepad, "How much sugar is in muffins? Any clue?"

"Depends on the muffin," he answered. "But less than, say, cake."

"What kind of muffin did you want, Emma Lemma?" Chandler asked her, smirking as she tapped her finger to her chin, in thought.

"Boo-berry," she answered finally, sitting a little taller, as if proud of her selection.

Laughing shortly, he asked, "**Boo**-berry, huh?" Then, turning to Gunther, requested in all seriousness, "We'll have a scary muffin to split."

Gunther just smiled awkwardly in return, nodded, then stepped away to fill the order.

"Ducks leave when it gets cold," Emma informed him out of the blue, adjusting her position on the couch, tucking her legs under herself.

"Yeah, they do," he agreed, smiling down on her. "Guess they'll be leaving soon, huh?"

She nodded. "But they'll be back. They always be back."

"That's cause cute little girls with bright blue eyes go to the park to feed them!" he added, sweeping her bangs away from her eyes with a quick brush of his index finger.

Abruptly changing the subject, she announced, "I want to be Pin-sess Jazz-men for trick-or-treat."

"Um, ok," he returned with uncertainty, asking, "Did you let Mommy know that?"

Shaking her head, she told him, "**You** buyed it for me!"

"Well, maybe, but, we have to talk to Mommy about it first," he stammered, not wanting to commit to something in case Monica had other plans.

"K," she agreed easily, dropping all conversation when Gunther approached.

"I brought you an extra plate and a knife, so you can split the muffin," he told Chandler, then started off-loading the order from the tray he was using to carry it.

"Thank you, Gunt-ter," Emma beamed, looking to her father for praise of her good manners.

Not knowing that was what she was doing, however, he only smiled back at her, a slight question in his expression.

"I have good manners!" she told him, almost sternly, her indignant scowl causing him to laugh.

"Yes, Emma Lemma, you do!" he commended her, catching Gunther before he turned to leave by thanking him as well.

Gunther only nodded in kind, but then threw an odd look at Chandler before pivoting around and walking away. It seemed odd to him, but had the distinct impression that the man thought **he** was odd, so quickly dismissed it.

Handing Emma her cocoa, he warned her to be careful, then started cutting into the muffin; mid-task, a question came to mind.

"Hey, Emma, do you know, what's your middle name?"

"Muriel," she answered, tipping the mug to her lips the next second, sipping carefully.

Chandler visibly startled, making several inarticulate noises before saying the only thing his brain could think of to say. "What?"

"Muriel," she repeated, then stated her full name, "Emma Muriel Geller."

His mind screamed back to the year 1988 at warp speed, struggling to remember every piece of conversation he'd had with her. He didn't tell her that. He couldn't remember for absolute, but he was certain he hadn't. He didn't tell **anyone**, unless near about forced to at gunpoint.

"Daddy? Muffin?"

Emma's voice ripped him from his strained retrospect, and he forced a smile onto his face as he noticed her looking back at him with a scowl of concern.

"Sorry, sweetie," he apologized, quickly slicing through the muffin and handing her half over to her, suggesting, "Why don't we set the cocoa down on the coffee table while you eat, k?"

She handed her mug over without comment, immediately pulling a chunk of muffin off and chomping into it.

Suddenly, he wasn't feeling hungry anymore, and he pushed his plate aside as he leaned back against the cushions of the couch, watching as his daughter demolished her half of the breakfast treat swiftly, his mind awhirl.

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Ok, I'm done predicting now. It'll be over when it's over, LOL.

Doing better. This chapter just **flew** out of me.

Guys… my 'hits to reviews' ratio is making me sad! C'mon! Is it really gonna hurt you to review? My life is harsh… throw me a bone here!

Review, **please**!

MTLBYAKY


	24. Chapter 23

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Twenty-Three

**XXX**

--Pushing the thoughts and questions from his head for the majority of the day was nothing less than a task. Emma didn't seem to notice the strain, but Ross did, as did his new friends, so he played it off as nerves about the impending get-together with Jack and Judy Geller, which seemed to make sense to them, as they dropped the inquiries about his off mood easily.

But with Emma down to sleep, and Ross on his way home, the nagging thoughts resurfaced, bringing tension to his muscles and a scowl to his face. Which is how Monica found him when she entered the apartment, home from work.

Noticing his stance and sensing his ill mood, the smile dropped from her face. "Hey," she greeted him softly, hanging her coat and purse before approaching the couch where he remained seated.

"Hey," he said back, turning his body to face her as she neared. "How was work?"

"Good," she returned automatically, her brow furrowing as she asked, "Is something wrong? You seem upset."

"Not upset," he answered, kissing her cheek reassuringly when she sat beside him, adding, "Just, have a lot on my mind."

"Worried about tomorrow?" she asked, assuming, but when he shook his head, her frown returned. "Talk to me, Chandler," she requested of him, her tone serious, taking his hand and knitting her fingers with his.

Sighing, he asked after several silent moments, "What's Emma's middle name?"

Frown dissolving into a look of understanding, she asked, "Emma told you, did she?" When he nodded, she immediately offered an explanation. "I couldn't very well give her the name Bing. Or Chandler. Not and keep to the Steven story. I wanted some acknowledgement of your connection to her, even if **I** was the only one who knew of it."

"I don't mind **that**," he told her, looking away, staring blankly at the ornate rug that sat beneath the coffee table. "How did you know my middle name, Monica? I never told you it. I don't usually tell **anyone** it."

"When I was trying to find you," she explained, "I had a long talk with the dean at the college. He wasn't too keen on helping me, though. Kept saying that your information was personal, and that he couldn't give it out. Maybe you didn't want to be found. I finally broke down and told him the truth. That I was pregnant with your child, and just wanted to let you know. That it was the right thing to do. He told me the records were confidential, and he could get in trouble for telling me **anything**, but, on the QT, he told me your full name. Guess he figured it would help me find you, but wouldn't be something he would get in trouble for."

"Are you angry with me?" she asked, when he hadn't responded after several moments; he smiled over at her, bringing a mirrored expression to her face.

"No," he assured her, pausing before admitting, "This has been a crazy six days, hasn't it?"

"But in a good way," she agreed, adding, "For the most part. Right?"

Nodding, he whispered, "Emma's asleep, bathed and fed…" He trailed off, leaving the rest to her imagination.

"Thought we were going to discuss the game plan for tomorrow," she reminded, craning her neck to give him access when he moved to kiss it.

"Did that already, with Ross and everyone," he told her, his lips grazing her skin slowly and sensually. "I've been stressed today," he mockingly whined, "I need to _**relax**_."

"I'm sorry," she apologized, running her fingers in through his hair, asking, "What did you **think** the explanation was going to be? For how I got your middle name and why I used it?"

"I wasn't sure," he answered, his affection ceasing as he turned serious. "I couldn't make sense of it. I just remembered never having told you it. Too odd a name, to be a coincidence," he added, eyes downcast.

"I **was** going to tell you," she assured him, cupping his face with one hand, encouraging him to look at her. "I just thought it would be best to wait until **after** the thing with my parents."

"Why?" he asked, placing his hand over hers, sliding them both down to kiss her palm.

"I wasn't sure how you'd react, and I didn't want to give you something else to be upset about," she answered, smiling at the gentle way his lips caressed her.

Nodding, he dropped their hands together, to the space between them, asking cautiously, "What's on her birth certificate? Under 'father'?"

"Unknown," she said with a remorseful tone and sad expression, quickly adding, "I only had two choices. Name of father, or unknown."

"Do you suppose, that **that** could be changed?" he asked hesitantly, glancing over at her, quickly looking away when she attempted to meet his eyes.

Giving his hand a gentle squeeze to gain his attention, she asked, "You want to be on the birth certificate?"

Finally locking eyes with her, he whispered, "Only if you're ok with it. If you're not, I don't have to be."

"I would love for you to be," she whispered back, offering him a slight smile, hoping the gesture would reassure him. "Would you want her to have your last name?"

Shaking his head near instantly, he said, "I don't want to confuse her. Or upset her. She knows her last name is Geller. It's **all** she's **ever** known, for the short amount of time she's been aware. When she's older, maybe we could ask her, and change it if **she** wants to. For now, let's just see if I can be put on."

"I'll make some calls on Monday," she told him, standing, their hands still linked. "Let's go tuck her in, then, we can work on _**relaxing**_ you, k?"

Allowing her to pull him gently from off the couch, he smiled as he wrapped an arm around her, whispering, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," she said against his chest. "I don't even know if I **can**. Change the birth certificate, I mean. I **know** I can relax you," she added humorously, hoping it would ease his tension.

"I know," he replied, softly into her hair, "But I'm not thanking you for that."

"Then," she asked curiously, "What are you thanking me for?"

"Your love. Giving me the daughter I didn't even know I wanted. Allowing me to be a part of her life so completely. Letting me love you."

Tears welled and spilled, and she breathed his name before whispering, "You're welcome. Thank **you**," she added, her voice only slightly louder, though still shaky with emotion, "For the same."

**XXX**

--He watched her sleep for nearly an hour, until the haze of daybreak started to invade the room through the blinds. Not wanting to wake her, he slipped carefully out of bed, deciding to take his shower before the bustle of the day began.

Lathering the shampoo into his hair, he began at the top, intending to work his way from top to bottom; he wasn't in there more than five minutes, when a soft noise caught his attention.

Startling when he heard the bathroom door open, Chandler froze in place beneath the spray of the shower. "Monica?"

"No, Daddy," Emma answered back, hiking her nightgown up and pulling her panties down, hopping up on the toilet without concern.

Chandler immediately cupped his hands over his groin, even though the shower curtain completely obscured him from her view. "Um, sweetie? I'm taking a shower."

"Yeah," she muttered sleepily, almost absently.

"I'm, kinda, well, not wearing any clothes," he informed her, stalk-still, continuing to cover himself.

Laughing, Emma, said, "You don't wear clothes in the shower, Daddy!"

"Exactly!" he returned nervously, asking, "What are you doing?"

"I hafta go bathroom," she told him, wiping before sliding off the seat, yanking her panties back in place.

There was no time to respond. She flushed the toilet, making the shower water instantly run cold.

Monica bolted out of her bedroom at the sound of Chandler's scream, bounding into the bathroom to see Emma standing with her face in her hands, crying, and Chandler's head sticking out from behind the shower curtain, looking horrified.

"She flushed the toilet, and the water ran cold! I think I scared her," he explained, remorse written all over his face.

First offering him a small smile and a nod that she understood the situation, Monica gathered Emma into her arms, leaving the bathroom quickly; Chandler sighed heavily as he watched them disappear out the door.

Turning the water off, soap still in his hair, he jumped out and grabbed a towel, securing it around his waist before darting out into the livingroom. Seated on the couch, Monica held Emma in her lap, rocking her and shushing her as she stroked her hair soothingly.

"Emma, sweetie," Chandler began his apology, kneeling in front of them, one hand on Monica's knee, the other hesitantly touching his daughter's back, "I'm sorry I scared you. I didn't mean to scream. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"You're mad at me," Emma whimpered against Monica's shoulder, sniffling.

"No, Emma, no," he assured her, "I'm not. I promise I'm not."

"Sweetie," Monica said, attempting to help, "You know how sometimes Uncle Joey pops out and scares you? And you scream cause you're surprised? It's like that," she told her, moving in such a way as to encourage her to sit up and initiate eye contact. "You're not mad at Uncle Joey for doing that, right? You just scream cause you're surprised!"

"Yeah," she near-whispered, staring back at her mother as she gently wiped the wet from her cheeks.

"You just surprised Daddy, is all," Monica added, smiling over at Chandler when she saw him nod just past her line of vision.

"That's all," Chandler chimed in, rubbing Emma's back, gaining her attention. "I could **never** be mad at you, Emma Lemma! **Never**."

"Never?" she asked with interest, her tears at bay as she stared back at him.

"Never," Chandler repeated, shaking his head for emphasis, and as he did, Monica smirked; she could almost **see** her daughter's thoughts.

"That's not permission to misbehave," she told her, laughing when she scowled in response. "Ah," she stated sarcastically, in Chandler's direction and for his benefit, "The 'hurt bunny' look."

Chuckling, he said, "I think she has us **both** wrapped around her little finger."

"And she knows it," Monica returned in agreement, "Even if she **isn't** fully aware that she knows it."

Exhaling sharply, as if annoyed by the words she didn't quite understand, Emma announced, "I'm hungry! Daddy, make me toast and eggs!"

"Make me toast and eggs, **please**," Monica corrected her somewhat sternly, adding without giving her a chance to rephrase the request nicer, "But, **f****irst**, he has to finish his shower, and wash the soap out of his hair."

Forgetting briefly that he had ended his shower abruptly, Chandler reached up to touch his head, feeling the suds pop and glide under his fingertips. "Crap." As soon as the word left his mouth, he gasped, looking from Emma to Monica several times in rapid succession. "Sorry," he muttered ruefully, wincing at Monica's austere expression towards him, adding as he hooked his thumb towards the bathroom, "I'll be quick about it."

"Take your time," Monica told him, hiding a smile, "I got breakfast. It'll be ready and waiting for you, by the time you get out."

Smiling back at her, hoping she would return the gesture, he replied with, "Thanks, Babe."

She smirked back at the term of endearment, which caused his smile to widen, then, he kissed the top of Emma's head before turning away, a happy bounce to his step Monica noticed easily.

"Sweetie," she said to her daughter, as soon as the bathroom door closed and clicked shut, "If you hear the shower running, don't go in, ok? Daddy is shy, and doesn't want you to accidentally see him without clothes on."

"I seen him with no clothes on," she informed her mother, completely at ease with the comment, even after Monica startled in response.

Nervously, she asked, "When?"

Emma scoffed as she hopped off her lap. "Right now! He weared a towel! Not clothes!"

Guilt instantly assaulted her as she watched Emma skip into the kitchen. Even if only for a second, she allowed herself to think Chandler was capable of doing something wrong and completely inappropriate with their child. Chastising herself, she stood and followed her daughter's lead, stepping up to the fridge to start the first meal of the day. The gang would be over soon. The day was going to drag out torturously, she just had a feeling.

**XXX**

--Tensions were already soaring, which made Joey's whining that much more unbearable.

"But I wanted to **help**!"

"Joey, you **are** helping!" Monica insisted, trying not to let her exasperation show through.

"But I wanted to talk to them! Tell them what a great guy Chandler is!" he shot back, his face scrunched up in frustration.

"And I appreciate that, Joe, I really do!" Chandler chimed in, "But, **this** is the help we need most right now. We don't know what's going to be said tonight, and Emma shouldn't be around it if it gets heated."

"So why can't Phoebe or Rachel watch her?" Joey countered, brow still furrowed.

"They've known Rachel longer than they've known you," Monica answered, adding, "And, Phoebe is good at calming people! We need a lot of that right now. With this."

Reluctantly, Joey nodded, muttering, "Fine. I said I'd help any way I can, and, if this is the help you need, I'll do it. But," he added, "Can I borrow the _Little Mermaid_ tape? I don't have much to do over there! She'll be bored!"

Throwing him a skeptical sideways glance, Monica told him, "Yes, but, do **not** refer to Ariel as 'hot' around Emma! Last time, I had to have a twenty minute conversation with her about it! I finally convinced her you said it, cause of Ariel's red hair! So," she added as she went to retrieve the tape, "If she says something to you about how her hair is **just** red, and **not** on fire, just, play along. K?"

Smiling sheepishly in apology, Joey simply nodded as the tape was handed over to him. "Maybe we should get across the hall now," he suggested, pointing back at the door with the video he held, asking, "When is everyone supposed to be getting here?"

"Ross should be here any minute," Monica answered, glancing down at her watch. "Pheebs and Rachel should be here soon, too, actually."

"And your parents?" Chandler asked, jumping into the conversation.

Knowing he knew the answer already, and was likely asking because he was nervous, Monica offered him a sympathetic look as she informed him for the third time in as many hours, "Seven."

Taking Monica's wrist and looking at her watch, he groaned as he realized the time. "Less than an hour," he choked out, clearing his throat of the lump that started to form there.

"It's going to be alright," she assured him, smiling as she grazed her hand down his cheek, adding, "Go get Emma, ok?"

He nodded, stepping quickly towards his daughter's bedroom, giving a light knock on the slightly open door before peeking inside. "Emma? Could you come here for a sec?"

Jumping up from where she had been seated, playing with her toys, she hopped and skipped out of her room and straight for Monica.

"Sweetie," Monica said as Emma neared, "I need to tell you something…"

**XXX**

--As the time approached, Chandler's nervous actions alternated between bouncing his legs on the balls of his feet, drumming his fingers on the coffee table in front of the couch, and slapping at his thighs in a furious rhythmic pattern. Not wanting to add to his stress, no one said anything in response to it, though everyone shared looks of annoyance.

"Why are you so scrunchy?" Phoebe finally asked, and for the briefest of moments, Chandler's hands-on-legs drum solo ceased.

"Why am I **crunchy**?" he questioned her, confused; it was Monica who offered clarification.

"Not **crunchy**. **Scrunchy**. It's her word for nervous."

Nodding, Chandler went back to his annoying coping mechanism without answering.

"It's not like they're gonna pull out a gun and blow your head off," Phoebe offered, hoping to settle him at least some.

"I know that," Chandler shot back, sounding more irritated than he had meant to.

"So, then, what's the problem?" Rachel asked curiously.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he switched back to bouncing his legs. "Don't you **get** it? If they don't like me… if they, **disapprove**, everything will become horribly strained! They will lecture Monica, and Ross, too, probably, every time they talk to them! It'll be awkward every time they babysit Emma! Or even spend time with her! They might not want to spend holidays with them, if I'm in the picture! Unless I make myself scarce, maybe! Which means **I** get to **not** spend them with my girlfriend and daughter!"

"That's not going to happen," Monica stated with certainty. "If **they** are the ones with the problem, then **they** will be the ones **not** spending the holidays with me and Emma!"

Her reassuring words to him stopped his restless actions, and he smiled as he stood and approached her. "I was looking forward to spending Christmas with her, ya'know? Maybe take her to the mall, to see Santa Claus? Go to the lot and buy a tree, and decorate it with her? Watch her open her presents on Christmas morning? All the traditional stuff **I** never got to do," he added wistfully, his smile dropping for only a second before returning. "I wanted to share some holiday **joy** with you, Christmas Eve, after Emma goes to sleep," he added, his eyebrows raising suggestively.

Grinning, she wrapped her arms around him, whispering into his chest, "We'll get to do **all** those things, I promise. Nothing that happens tonight will change that."

The knock at the door caused Chandler to jump back and away from her, his expression nearly panicked.

As Ross headed for the door to answer it, Monica took Chandler's face in her hands, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "Calm down," she ordered, kindly but firmly. "Just, let **me** do the talking, till you feel comfortable enough to jump in, ok?"

Nodding slight, he attempted to wipe the terrified look off his face as Ross waited for his cue from Monica to open the door.

Upon receiving it, he took in a deep breath and turned the knob.

**To be continued**

Author's note:

Don't'cha **love** cliffhangers?

Today (February 20th), is the 13th anniversary of the accident that left me disabled. So, as you can probably imagine, I'm in a bad place again. Trying not to let it get to me **too** much, but, that's easier said than done. Hoping to update soon, but I can't promise anything.

Need to see those reviews, folks. Especially when I'm in a bad place.

MTLBYAKY


	25. Chapter 24

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Twenty-Four

**XXX**

--Pleasantries were exchanged as Ross let his parents in, offering to take their coats and accepting a peck on the cheek from his mom as she handed hers over.

"Where's Carol?" Judy asked as she stepped further inside, her attention, for the most part, still on Ross. "I found that article I was telling her about."

"She couldn't make it tonight," he answered, hanging their jackets on the hooks and turning to face her, "She had a late meet--" He stopped his explanation short, when his mom spun around to greet Monica and dramatically startled.

"What's **he** doing here?" she asked, not even attempting to hide her disdain.

"That's why I invited you guys to dinner," Monica announced, gesturing towards the couch as she added, "Mom, Dad, take a seat. We need to talk."

Smiling as he approached, Jack gave his daughter a quick peck on the cheek before moving to sit as requested, but Judy offered no such greeting, only sat in slow motion next to her husband, avoiding eye contact with Chandler.

"Firstly," Monica began, "I know you know this, but, it's time to say it out loud. Time to get it out in the open." Sighing, she admitted as if relieving a great emotional burden, "Chandler is Emma's father. When I found out I was pregnant," she rushed on to explain, "I tried to find him, to tell him before telling anyone else, but, when I couldn't, I decided to make up the story about the random one-night stand. I didn't want you guys to hate Chandler, so, I made up a faceless guy for you to hate instead. I'm sorry I lied," she apologized, "But I only did it to protect him from being villainized, where he wasn't even able to defend himself."

"That's ok, sweetie," Jack offered supportively, "We understand." When his wife glared over at him, the smile dropped from his face. "Ok," he corrected, "**I** understand."

"Mom," Monica sighed, trying to determine how best to reach her, "I know you want to hate the guy that got me pregnant and abandoned me, but, it didn't happen like that! Chandler didn't leave because I was pregnant! And he didn't leave because he was just using me for sex! He had a very good reason, for why he left," she added, almost pleading with her mother to hear her.

"I **know** his reasons," Judy stated with quiet anger, her jaw set as she spoke.

Taken aback, Monica stared at her for a long moment before finally asking, "What are you talking about?"

"Sweetie," Jack interjected, "Your mom has been keeping something from you. A secret. A pretty big one, too. And since this is a meeting to get things out in the open, I think it's time for her to share it. Don't you, Judy?" he asked his wife pointedly, challenging her angry expression with a firm look of his own.

Confused, Chandler looked from Jack to Judy, to Monica, and then to Ross, but no one's expressions held any clues to what was about to be admitted.

"A few weeks after Emma was born," Judy eventually began, "After we had deduced who her father was, I hired a private investigator to track him down. Before handing the information over to you, I wanted to be sure it was right, so, I called the phone number. A Charles Bing answered. He explained everything," she added hostilely towards Chandler.

Curious, Chandler arched an eyebrow back at her, asking, "He explained **what** exactly?"

"That you were there to spend time with him, because he was dying," she answered, adding after an indignant huff, "And that you **knew** she was pregnant, but wanted nothing to do with her **or** the baby."

Reactions around the room varied from shock to anger, and Chandler could feel his blood begin to boil as he glared hard back at the woman who made the disparaging declaration.

"That's a lie!" he shot at her, his emotions no longer in check. "My father wouldn't have said that to you!"

Monica jumped at the sound of his voice raised in anger, staring back at him with a lost expression on her face. There was no way he knew she was pregnant. No way he knew he was a father before she told him, less than a week ago. Oscar winning actors couldn't have pulled off that convincing a performance. A simple glance towards Ross told her they were on the same page.

But the alternative was just as unsettling. Either her mother was a liar, or Chandler's father was a monster. There was no doubt which option Chandler was leaning towards.

"I, **Sir**, am **not** lying!" Judy snipped back through gritted teeth, glowering at him for the attack on her character.

Devastation mixed with anger, Monica could see it clearly written all over his face, but when she tried to touch him, to offer him some sort of comfort or support, he shrugged away from her; his eyes betrayed him, a window into the soul of a hurt little boy.

"Chandler?" She said his name like a question, wanting more than anything to take away his pain and doubts.

"I have to make a phone call," he finally muttered, heading quickly for the door, ignoring her when she called out to him as he yanked it open and slammed it behind him.

Unsure of exactly how to move forward, Monica only stared back at her parents, her mother more so than her father. Sensing her struggle, Ross stepped in.

"Mom," he requested of her as respectfully as he could, given the nature of it, "Tell the truth. Did Charles **really** say that to you?"

Scoffing, she asked fervidly, "**You** think I'm lying, **too**?"

"I don't **think** you're lying," he told her with a sigh, "I'm just, asking you to be one hundred percent honest with us now. It's important, alright?"

"I **am** being honest with you," she insisted, asking, "How can you be so sure **he's** not lying?"

"I'm sure," Monica chimed in, adding in Ross' direction, "This is going to kill him."

As Ross nodded in agreement, Judy asked, "What is?"

Dropping heavily onto the coffee table, Monica turned her body to the right to face her parents before answering. "Chandler's relationship with his father growing up wasn't good. In fact, it was almost nonexistent. The time he spent with him, out in Vegas, when he was dying… it was a turning point. Some of the only good memories he has of his dad, was from **that** time! And now, with this…"

"It's like a slap in the face," she continued after trailing off. "The amends that were made – the connection that was reestablished, is tainted now."

"He's a good guy, Mr. and Mrs. Geller," Phoebe spoke up for the first time since the meeting had begun, her and Rachel staying over by Monica's bedroom door, quietly out of the way. "He wouldn't have turned his back on his child, or Monica."

"He knew how to get ahold of you," Judy said to Monica, off Phoebe's comments. "So why didn't he? Seems to me that Charles Bing was speaking the truth," she added snootily, to which Monica shook her head, and Ross interjected.

"His dad was dying, Mom. He was distraught! Grief stricken! Confused! By the time he was able to regain his head, a lot of time had passed. He thought we hated him. He didn't call, because he didn't think we'd want to hear from him."

"The boy's a victim in this, Judy," Jack told her, lending his help in trying to get her to see reason.

Judy's eyes locked on her husband, pausing before asking, "You knew about this, didn't you?"

"I came by on Wednesday, just to say hi," he admitted. "Chandler was here with Emma. You haven't seen them together," he added brightly. "He's wonderful with her! He seemed genuinely upset that he's missed so much of her life!"

"He is," Monica cut in, "And if his dad is partially responsible, in this malicious way, for why he **has** missed her first four years, it's going to hurt him **badly**."

"You're in love with him, Princess, aren't you?" her dad asked, and as she hung her head, she nodded slight. "And he is with you, too, I'm assuming?"

"Yeah," she answered, initiating eye contact once again, "He is."

"And what if it doesn't work out?" her mom asked, her tone sounding far more forgiving and kind than earlier.

"Then, we'll be friends," Monica explained, "And a parenting team to Emma. But, right now," she added, "I'm not worried about that."

"There's been talk of marriage?" Jack asked, and when Monica smiled, he knew the answer.

"Already?" Judy asked, surprised, a look of shock crossing her previously serious face.

"Only that we can see a future together," Monica answered, adding, "There's been no proposal."

The smile dropped from her face and she stood abruptly, when Chandler walked slowly through the door. He'd been crying, she could tell easily, and she wanted to go to him, but his stance told her she'd better not. The protective shield he placed around himself was almost visible to her. Instead, she just watched him drag himself into the livingroom area, his eyes downcast.

"I just got off the phone," he finally muttered, glancing at Monica briefly before looking down at the floor once again.

"Who did you call?" Monica asked softly, cautiously.

"Chris Garibaldi," he answered. "My dad's… significant other." Sighing shakily, he announced, more to Monica than anyone, "She's telling the truth. He overheard my dad's side of the conversation, the day she called. After he hung up, he asked him why he did it. My dad was afraid I would leave him, and go to you, if I knew you had just given birth to my child, so, he lied to **her**," he said as he pointed at Judy without so much as glancing at her, adding, "And he kept it all from **me**."

"How come he didn't tell you this before now?" Rachel asked curiously, and with the exception of Ross stealing a look in her direction, all eyes in the apartment remained on Chandler.

"He didn't want me thinking poorly of my father, after all we had been through to mend the fences," Chandler answered numbly, stuffing his hands in his pockets, his shoulders tense up around his neck.

"I am so **so** sorry," Monica whispered to him, seeing his guard drop enough to risk reaching out to him.

As she wrapped her arms around him, he pulled his hands from his pockets and threw them around her, clinging to her as he cried.

"It's all I had of him, Monica," he choked out, "And now even **that's** gone."

"I know," she soothed, stroking his hair at the nape of his neck. "He was just scared, Chandler," she offered. "He didn't want you to leave him."

"Don't make excuses for him," he shot back sadly. "What he did was inexcusable."

"I know. I'm sorry," she apologized, pulling away from their embrace, wiping the wet from his cheeks gently, with an almost motherly dedication. "Look," she suggested, "Why don't we go somewhere and talk, ok?"

Swiping at the tears she'd missed with the back of his hand, he shook his head, telling her, "Your parents are here and everything. You should stay. Visit or whatever. I'd kinda like to be alone right now anyway," he added, giving her shoulder a tiny squeeze before turning away from her and heading for the door.

"Chandler," she called out, following him; he spun around to face her. "Don't do this," she asked of him. "Don't shut me out. Let me help."

"I'm not," he said, smiling slight for reassurances sake alone. "I'll be back in a little bit, ok? I promise. I just- I need some time to think."

"Alright," she agreed reluctantly, circling her arms around his neck, bringing him in for a kiss. When he returned it, relief washed over her. She could feel it as soon as his lips touched hers. He wasn't distancing himself from her love or help, he was just trying to find himself again, amidst the heartbreaking news he wasn't prepared to hear.

"I love you," he whispered, then turned and walked out the door, leaving Monica staring after him.

"I love you, too," she whispered back, sighing as she dropped her head in frustration.

"Mon?" Ross' voice grabbed her attention, though she remained cemented in place. "You ok?"

"Yeah," she answered, then finally turned and faced the room full of concerned eyes and expressions. "I'm fine," she reiterated, then, moving towards the kitchen, announced, "Time to eat."

**XXX**

--As soon as he walked through the door, she was on her feet and rushing towards him, the previous four hours spent worrying about him lending to her extreme emotional state. A combination of relief and frustration washed over her in a wave, and she found herself smacking his arm, then throwing hers around him.

"Where have you been?" she asked harshly, adding in a different, more panicked tone of voice, "I've been worried sick!"

"Sorry," he apologized sincerely, then added jokingly, "And, **ow**!"

"Sorry," she chuckled, releasing him from her fierce hold, asking, "Are you ok?"

Shrugging, he gestured at the couch, then led the way to it, sitting heavily as he muttered, "I don't know."

Joining him, she asked, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," he answered. "Emma's asleep, I'm assuming?"

"Yeah." Scowling at his avoidance of the issue, she asked, "Will we **ever** talk about it?"

"Yes," he assured her, pulling her to his side, resting his head atop hers. "Just, not tonight. How'd it go with your parents?" he asked hesitantly, planting a soft kiss in her hair as he spoke.

"Good, actually," she told him, sighing contentedly; his slight affection helped put her at ease for the first time since her mother had uttered the words that sent him fleeing. "They understood the situation you were in," she elaborated, adding with a smirk he couldn't see, "I told you they'd come around."

Nodding, he asked, "Would you think it totally inappropriate, if I were to ask to make love to you right now?"

Resting her hand on his leg, inching up his thigh, she told him, "It won't take the pain of what your father did away."

"I know," he whispered, adding, "I'm not expecting it to. I just, really need you right now."

"You have me, Chandler," she whispered back, "And, no, I wouldn't think it inappropriate. And, yes, we can absolutely make love."

A soft moan escaped as he shifted positions, raking his fingers through her hair as he pressed his lips to hers soundly, kissing her passionately. Needing her desperately. Her touch, her whole being surrounding him, was not just the comfort he sought, but the fuel to his desires that set his very soul on fire. She was like air, and water, and food, and sleep, and everything else essential for living.

She was everything. Everything he'd always wanted. Everything he never knew existed. Everything he'd been denied. Everything he could and would ever need.

"I'm drowning in you, Monica," he gasped, returning his lips to hers for several more seconds before breaking away again, his kisses moving down her jaw line to her neck. "Please, God, save me." He almost sounded like he was in fear, or in pain, but she knew he wasn't.

"You're safe," she told him, her tone as well as her caresses more to comfort rather than to excite. "I'm with you. Don't fight it."

When he started to cry, he laughed at himself. "God, I'm such a wuss."

"No you're not," she laughed with him, moving away from him abruptly; he literally felt his body ache at the loss of contact. "Don't hide from it behind humor," she asked of him, standing, reaching her hand out for him to take. "Just _**feel**_ it. Allow it to consume you."

"What?" he asked, taking her hand, pushing up off the couch and onto his feet.

"The raw emotions of true love," she answered, smiling as she began to lead him towards the bedroom.

"I thought that's what I was feeling before," he told her, his voice strained. "This is stronger."

"I know," she replied simply, reaching past him to lock the door once they were inside.

"You've felt this before? This feeling of drowning?" he asked, his one hand slipping out of hers, both of his then sliding onto her hips; the look on his face made her want to laugh and cry, all at the same time.

Nodding, her hands inching up to rest on his shoulders, she whispered, "Yes. With **you**. On Tuesday."

Surprised, he asked her, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was waiting for you to join me," she said, crossing her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, leaning into him as she stared intently into his eyes.

"I'm here," he breathed, the pleasant crushing sensation growing stronger as he kissed her. Slowly. Softly. Reverently.

What followed wasn't about the act of sexual intercourse, or the rush of orgasm. It was about closeness, and the connection to each other. Skin on skin contact didn't seem nearly adequate enough. He wanted to climb inside her. Be a part of her very body and soul. Consume her and be consumed by her.

"This is forever, isn't it?" he whispered into her sweat-dampened hair as he made love to her, and she nodded barely in response.

"Seven days, or seven hundred," she whispered back, arching into him, her body demanding more of his as she moved with him, "This is love. This is forever and ever, until death parts us."

"Yes," he hissed in agreement, relaxing into the feelings of being one with her in every sense of the word.

She was his past. She was his present. She was his future. Of that, he was certain. A ceremony in front of family and friends was just a matter of when, and the 'when', was just details.

"I love you," he whispered against her ear, and she shuddered at the absolute sound of sincerity in his tone.

"I love you, too."

**The End**

Epilogue chapter to follow soon… unless I don't get reviews! Heeheehee.

Author's note:

Might seem a little sappy, but I love sap! For those who didn't catch it, this fic took place over the course of one week's time.

After the epilogue chapter, I will be finishing 'The One With The Breakup', then, I am playing with an NC-17 London fic, that I may or may not finish and post, that will only be available on my website, due to the rating.

Ok, so, make me happy and review, please.

MTLBYAKY


	26. Epilogue

The One With The Big Secret

By: Jana

Chapter Twenty-Five – Epilogue

**XXX**

--"Daddy, look!" Emma shouted excitedly, tugging his coat sleeve and pulling him towards a display window. "That's her! That's the Barbie I want!"

"Child, you **just** had a birthday not that long ago," Chandler returned with a laugh. "You **still** have presents you've yet to play with!"

"I know," she said with a shrug, her attention back on the doll behind the glass, "But, look how pretty she is! And her wedding dress is just like Mommy's--"

"Baaahhh!" Chandler exclaimed over top of his daughter's words, immediately putting his hand over his eyes. "I can't know what her dress looks like, Emma Lemma! I can't see it on **her**, **or** on Barbie before the wedding day! It's tradition!"

Laughing, Emma grabbed his arm, pulling his hand away from his eyes and dragging him away from the toy store window. "You're funny, Daddy."

Smiling at the compliment, he said, "Thanks. You're beautiful!"

Beaming, she slipped her hand into his, a spring to her step as they continued down the street. After several minutes of walking in comfortable silence, she spoke up again, asking, "Daddy, when Mommy marries you, she's gonna have the last name Bing, like you, right?"

Chandler's heart lurched as he sensed where her question was headed. "Yes, that's right."

"So," she continued, "You will be Bing, and Mommy will be Bing, but I will still be Geller."

"Yeah," he returned with a light squeeze of her hand, asking, "Does that bother you?"

"Kinda," she answered, sighing. "I like Geller ok, but, I'll be the only one with it! Except for Uncle Ross, and Papa and Nonny, but, that's not the same," she added, her gaze shifting to look up at him.

"No, you're right, that's **not** the same," he agreed, waiting for her to ask the question he knew was coming.

"So, I was thinking… maybe we could change **my** name, **too**! That way, we could **all** be Bings."

Grinning down on her, he told her, "If that's something you want to do, then, yeah, we could do that."

"Ok!" she chirped excitedly, hopping a few times before resuming walking. "And, that way, I'll beat Mommy! Cause I'll have **two** of your names, and Mommy will only have **one**!"

"Well, sweetie," he said, swallowing his smile, "It's not a contest."

"Mommy says everything can be a contest!" Emma countered assertively; she reminded him more and more of her mother every day.

"Yes, well, to **Mommy**, everything **is**," he shot back with a laugh, to which she laughed along with him.

"Can I go to Uncle Joey's and Auntie Rachel's before dinner, to play foosball?" she asked out of the blue, and Chandler scowled as he tried to remember if Monica had already answered that question, or if she had previous plans.

"Maybe," he answered, asking, "What did your Mommy say?"

"I didn't ask her," Emma told him, smiling sweetly up at him, "I asked **you**."

Yep, wrapped around her little finger, Chandler thought to himself, unable to stop the grin from bursting across his face. "Did you do your homework?"

Nodding sharply, she informed him, "At the dress shop, when everyone else was trying on **their** dresses!"

"Well, as long as Mommy doesn't have other plans, then, yeah, you can go across the hall and play some foosball," he said, giving permission reluctantly.

"Thank you, Daddy!" she exclaimed happily, skipping along side of him as they neared the apartment building, asking a moment later, "You can see **me** in **my** dress before the wedding, right?"

"Yes, sweetie, I can see **you**," he answered with a slight smirk, instinctively knowing a fashion show was inevitable, "Just not Mommy."

"My dress is **so** pretty!" she bragged. "Auntie Rachel cried when she saw it on me! She said I was the prettiest flower girl she **ever saw**! But Mommy told Auntie Phoebe she was crying, cause she called off her wedding to Barry What's-His-Face."

Chandler laughed, stopping abruptly when she looked up at him questioningly. "Sorry," he apologized, "It's not funny that Auntie Rachel was crying."

Shrugging it off, she continued with her tale. "And baby Ben looked **so** cute in his little suit! But since he still can't walk too good, they're gonna put flowers on his stroller and Uncle Ross is gonna **push** him down the aisle. And Mommy said that I can still call Auntie Carol Auntie Carol, even though she's not married to Uncle Ross anymore! She's gonna marry Auntie Susan, which is funny, cause they're both girls."

Making a mental note to talk to Monica about the 'funny, cause they're both girls' comment, he asked, somewhat hesitantly, "Did Nana Bing, pick out a dress?"

"Yep! But I don't think she's gonna be too happy in it," she answered, adding, "Auntie Phoebe said it was so tight, she couldn't breathe!"

Chandler rolled his eyes, making another mental note to call his mother, to try and stop her from wearing whatever hideously inappropriate dress she had chosen.

"Auntie Rachel says you have to stay in **her** room, in your **old** room, over at Uncle Joey's, the night before the wedding." When he nodded, she asked, "How come?"

"I'm not supposed to see Mommy **at** **all**, the day of the wedding, before I see her walking down the aisle," he answered as they entered their apartment building, stopping off at the mailbox in the lobby.

"Does **everyone** do this," she asked incredulously, "Or is this just **you** being a sappy romantic again?"

His casual every day action of sifting through the mail ceased as he looked down at her, smirking slightly before he asked, "Where did you hear that from?"

"Mommy says it to you all the time," she reminded him with a scowl, asking with concern, "I'm not in trouble, am I? It's not a bad word, is it?"

Chandler laughed, turning his attention back to the pile of bills and junkmail. "No," he assured her, "You're not, and **it's** not. Just gonna have to be more careful, what we say around you," he added, more to himself than to her. "I keep forgetting you're not four anymore."

"I'm seven now, Daddy," she informed him, as if that was somehow not clear, which caused Chandler to laugh again.

"I know that, Emma Lemma!" he replied, throwing the unwanted mail in the nearby trashcan before gesturing towards the stairs. "And, almost **everyone** does wedding traditions. The 'can't see the bride before the wedding' one is a pretty common one."

"You can't see **her**," she wondered, "But can **she** see **you**?"

Thinking for a moment as they climbed the steps, he said, "Well, probably not, cause then **I** would see **her**, right?"

"No," she returned with a huff of air that sounded a lot like a chuckle, "**You** could close your eyes!"

Hesitating before taking the next step, his attention shot over to her, grinning at the confident smile she threw back at him. "You're too smart for your own good, you know that, right?"

"I'm not too smart," she insisted, resuming the trek, him following her lead. "I'm just the right amount of smart!"

"With a little sarcastic thrown in for good measure," he added, fishing his keys out of his pockets as they reached their floor. "Why did you ask? If Mommy is allowed to see **me**?"

"She said she was going to miss you," Emma told him, almost sadly, "And she was kinda crying. I just thought, if **she** could see **you**, and **you** could close your **eyes**, maybe she wouldn't miss you so much."

Before opening the door, he knelt down in front of her, his hand on her shoulder as he explained, "Mommy is a very emotional person, Emma Lemma. Sometimes, even **happy** stuff makes her cry. She's just **really** happy about the wedding right now, and so, **sometimes**, when she talks about wedding stuff, she cries. You don't need to worry about that at all, ok? That's Daddy's job."

She seemed to think about that for a moment, before saying, "Ok. Do you wanna know what else she was crying about? So you can help her?"

"Sure," he answered, completely unprepared for what she was about to say next.

"She was talking about cooking," she told him, her brow furrowing as if trying to remember.

"You mean, for the wedding?" he asked, attempting to help her.

"Maybe," she said, still frowning. "She was talking about a bun in the oven." Chandler's face went completely white, which caused her scowl to deepen. "You ok, Daddy?"

He nodded, forcing his legs to stop shaking, then asked, "Are you **sure** that's what she said?"

"Yeah," she answered, her worry lines making her look remarkably like her mother. "She told Auntie Rachel that she hopes she doesn't start to **show** yet, cause she doesn't want anyone to know until **after**, and cause it would cost too much to alter the dress again."

"Oh my God," he breathed, his legs collapsing out from underneath him, his butt crashing the short distance to the floor.

"Daddy?" she asked, panic starting to edge her tone. "You're freaking me out."

Quickly gaining his composure, he pushed back onto his knees, wrapping his daughter in a hug as he whispered, "Everything is really **really** fine, ok? It's just, the bun your mom is talking about, is emotional for me, too. **But**," he added emphatically, "Everything is very ok, ok?"

"Ok," she said as she hugged him back, asking a second later, "Is it, like, a surprise? Like a cake for a surprise party, only it's a bun instead?"

"Something like that," he lied, having no idea what else to say, or how else to explain. "Look," he requested of her, "Do me a favor, Emma Lemma. Don't tell anyone else about this, ok? I think it's supposed to be a surprise."

"Then I probably shouldn't have told **you** then, huh?" she asked, pulling back, looking over at him with troubled eyes.

"That's ok, sweetie," he assured her, stroking her hair as he smiled. "It's ok if Daddy knows. Just, don't tell anyone else."

"Ok," she agreed, then turned and pushed into her apartment, leaving Chandler still kneeling on the ground in the hall just outside. "After I change out of my school clothes, and put my backpack in my room, can I go play foosball?"

Struggling to stand, he entered to see her disappearing into her bedroom, and he cleared his throat before calling back, "If it's ok with Joey, yes."

"Jessica, she sits next to me, **she** said weddings are boring. But I think that's just cause the only one she's ever been to was for her grandpa. Everyone there was, like, a hundred, she said. I don't think this one's gonna be boring. Or at least not **that** boring!"

He could hear her speaking, but barely listened, his thoughts elsewhere. Monica was pregnant. Question after question fought for attention inside his racing mind, causing his daughter's words to haze and distort, until he hardly recognized them as English.

How far along was she? When did she find out? Why didn't she tell him? How did it even happen?

"Daddy!"

Chandler's attention shot over to Emma abruptly, staring back at her as she stood in the doorway to her bedroom, her arms folded across her chest, looking irritated.

"Sorry, what?" he asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking back at her expectantly.

"Open House? In two weeks? Did you sign the paper so I can take it back to my teacher?"

"Oh!" he exclaimed, moving to the desk by the large bay window, immediately producing it once there. "All signed and ready to be returned," he told her, and her annoyed expression disappeared as she nearly skipped over to take it from him.

Glancing over the form and spotting the signature, she chirped, "Thanks, Daddy," then toddled off to put it in her folder, in her backpack.

"Emma? Did Mommy say when she would be home?" he asked, stepping casually towards her room.

"After she goes to the cake place," she answered back, strolling into the livingroom a second later, asking, "Can I go to Uncle Joey's now?"

"Check with him, to see if it's ok first," he said with a nod, following her as she headed for the door, leaning against the jamb as she crossed the hall.

Fisting her hand, she knocked three times on apartment nineteen, then clasped her fingers together behind her back, rocking from toe to heel on her feet as she waited for Joey to answer.

As soon as the door flew open, Emma started chattering. "Uncle Joey! Wanna play foosball with me? Daddy said it was ok, if it's ok with you! I'll let you win sometimes!"

Chandler and Joey shared wide smiles before he answered her. "Sure, sweetie, but only for about an hour. I have a date later."

Emma hopped with excitement before sliding past him and heading straight for the game table, immediately hunting in the goal pockets for the ball.

"You have her, then?" Chandler double checked, and Joey nodded in response. "K. See'ya later," he said with an upnod, retreating back into his apartment, leaning heavily against the door once it was closed. "Pregnant," he whispered to himself, shaking his head, a smirk curling at the edges of his mouth as he pushed off and moved towards his room to change.

**XXX**

--"Chandler?" Monica called out as soon as she entered the apartment, setting the box she was carrying down on the counter before moving to hang her coat and purse. "You home?"

Without answering, he stepped out of their bedroom, standing in the doorway, a silly grin plastered on his face.

"You look like **you're** in a good mood," she said with a laugh, tapping the box she had just seconds before set down, adding, "I got dessert for after dinner."

Nodding, he began his approach, his smile never changing, and she moved to meet him, her expression questioning him.

"What's going on?" she asked, accepting his brief kiss when they were at last only inches apart. "Where's Emma?" Her curiosity was piqued, and it showed through in her squinted eyes.

"Playing foosball with Joey," he answered, his smile constant. "She should be back any minute."

"Ok," she said, smiling back, though it was more forced than his was. "Why do you look like the Cheshire Cat?"

"I got some interesting news today," he replied, placing his hand gently on her abdomen, asking her, "Got anything you feel like sharing with me?"

It took a few moments, but when his implication sunk in, she gasped in response. "How did you find out?"

"We **really** have to start watching what we say around Emma," he answered indirectly, adding, "She hears **everything**!"

"Oh, God," she whispered, asking, "How did she figure it out? I was speaking in code!"

"She doesn't understand what you meant by it," he told her, "She thought you were talking about **cooking**. But, because you were crying when discussing it, she talked to **me** about it."

Disappointed, she said, "I wanted to surprise you with it! I was going to tell you on our honeymoon!"

Gathering her into his arms, he whispered, "That's ok. I'm glad I know! How far along are you?"

"Not very," she answered, relaxing into his chest, breathing him in deeply. "Four weeks maybe? I'll know better when I see the doctor."

"You must be as fertile as potting soil," he laughed, adding in explanation, "Twice now, you've gotten pregnant while using **some form** of birth control!"

"Well, to be fair, the condom broke the first time," she shot back with a chuckle, pulling him tighter to her as she asked seriously, "Are you as happy about this as I am?"

"You couldn't tell by my smile?" he joked, resting his cheek against the top of her head before adding in all honesty, "I am **so** happy right now, Monica, I don't even know what to do with myself."

"I can help with that," she told him, pulling back, smiling at him slyly; he felt himself respond instantly.

"Emma will be back any minute now," he warned her, his eyes locked on her lips as he inched slowly towards them. "Joey has a date."

"Rachel's home now," she informed him, adding, "She'll watch her for a bit, I'm sure."

"It won't hurt the baby?" he asked in a whisper, holding back his kiss so she could answer.

"No, it won't hurt the baby," she assured him, then impatiently pressed her lips to his, sinking into the familiar dizzying sensation.

"You guys kiss too much."

Chandler and Monica both laughed as their daughter's voice shattered their moment.

"When you're older, you'll understand," Monica told her, leaving Chandler's side and taking Emma's hand, heading back for apartment nineteen.

"Where are we going?" Emma asked, following sluggishly, almost dragging her feet.

"To see if Rachel will watch you for a little bit," Monica answered, knocking on the door as a courtesy before turning the knob and pushing inside.

"Hey, Mon, what's up?" Rachel asked, a smirk growing a second later when she saw the flushed look to her friend's face. "Or," she joked, "Should I ask **who's** up?"

Monica threw her an almost-glare, then asked, "Can you watch Emma for a little bit? Chandler and I need some 'us' time."

"Sure," Rachel agreed easily, patting the stool Emma had just minutes before vacated, asking her, "Wanna play dress up?"

"Yeah!" Emma exclaimed excitedly, and Monica mouthed the words 'thank you' to Rachel as she backed towards and out the door.

Shutting the door soundly once inside, she engaged every lock and the chain, then spun around, realizing instantly that Chandler wasn't in the room. "Chandler?"

"Bedroom," he called out, and she smiled as she moved swiftly to join him.

Stepping into view, she stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb as she struck a pose, and Chandler grinned back at her in response.

On his side, his head propped up on his hand, his elbow digging into the mattress, he rubbed the neatly pressed sheets of the perfectly made bed enticingly, whispering, "Saved you a spot."

Curling her fingers around the hem of her shirt, she pulled it up and off, immediately but slowly moving to unhook her bra as she inched closer to the bed, pushing the straps down her shoulders and allowing the lacy garment to fall to the floor. "I can't think of a better way to spend our three year anniversary," she said as she climbed in beside him, sighing deeply as his hand slid up her leg to rest on her hip.

"Three year anniversary?" he asked, as if confused, but his grin told her the truth.

"You didn't **really** forget," she challenged him, eyeing him as if skeptical.

He slowly shook his head, asking, "Do you remember how nervous you were?"

Nodding, she said, "You have that effect on me."

"Good," he whispered, his fingers raking gently through her hair as he leaned in to kiss her. "Mon?" he murmured against her lips, "I'm drowning."

She smiled as she nodded slight, the day that the now-common-to-them phrase was coined vivid in her mind. It was a few days after they first got together again, and the wealth of emotions was so great for him, he almost started to panic. He couldn't have found a better, more accurate way of describing it.

Brushing her lips against his in a teasing kiss, she whispered back, the words she had said to him that day, three years ago. "Don't fight it, just _**feel**_ it."

When she felt his lips curl into a barely-there grin, she knew he remembered, too.

"This is the most incredible feeling in the world," he told her, nuzzling her neck, his breath warm on her skin. "I would **never** fight it. I couldn't imagine my life **without** it."

"Do you believe in God?" she asked, and he laughed shortly at the randomness of the question.

"Sometimes," he answered honestly. "I'm open to the possibility of His existence, at least. Why?"

"If He **does** exist, we owe Him a huge thank you," she said, smiling when he pulled back and looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"We do?" he asked, his tone requesting an explanation.

"Of all the people at college, you end up as Ross' roommate? The knife slipping out of my hand and falling **just so**, cutting off your toe? If **that** hadn't happened, you would have gone back to school **that night**, and Emma wouldn't have been conceived. The condom breaking? You happening to answer Joey's ad? All coincidences, or some kind of divine plan?"

Giving that a moment's thought, he turned his eyes up to the ceiling and said, "Thank you, God, for all those things. And, thank **you**," he said to Monica, staring back at her with a love so intense, it almost made her shiver, "For giving me everything I never knew I always wanted."

"You knew," she said assuredly, "You just didn't **realize** you knew."

"Till you," he added, cupping her face, running his thumb across her lips.

"Till **us**," she corrected, smiling slight when he nodded. "I have a favor to ask," she stated seconds later, stopping his descent towards her naked chest.

"What's that?" he asked, prepared to give her all the world, if she requested it of him.

"**Be** with me, right before midnight, on the eve of our wedding," she asked of him, adding quickly, "**That** way, we won't be breaking the tradition, but I won't be missing you so much throughout the day, waiting for seven o'clock to come around."

"Of course," he agreed easily, adding, "If you do **me** a favor."

"What's that?" she asked curiously.

"Promise me, if we ever become one of those old married couples, who grows distant through the years, that we will set aside time to remind ourselves of **this** moment. **This** time in our lives, where even the simplest of touches causes us to drown in love and desire."

"I promise," she whispered, inching her hand up under his shirt as she asked, "You really do love me, don't you?"

"I do," he answered assuredly, asking in return, "And **you** love **me**, right?"

"I do," she replied without hesitation, smiling back at him.

"**That's** the commitment," he told her, adding as his lips hovered enticingly over hers, "The **ceremony**, is just details."

**The absolute end**

Author's note:

Hope you all enjoyed this series! This was a fun one to write! I felt it had a good combination of drama, comedy, and romance… hopefully, you agree.

I know the one line is almost word for word, a line from 'Fools Rush In', but I've always liked the line, and it worked well there.

I will be moving on now to 'The One With The Breakup'. Now, some of you, I know, are leery about reading that one, because Mondler 'shouldn't ever break up'. I actually happen to agree with you on that. I don't want to give the story away, so I'll just say this: Please, give it a chance. It might surprise you.

Ok, now, just because the series is over, doesn't mean I don't want to see those reviews! Don't make me beg, guys. It's not a pretty sight.

MTLBYAKY


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